


Instinctual Living

by fourteencandles (thingsbaker)



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsbaker/pseuds/fourteencandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened in the Danger Room stayed there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As originally posted on Livejournal in 2007: This is a "what if" story, in a way, built on this question: What if Jean had gotten on the airplane at the end of X2 and saved the day from there? It's the question that's always bothered me. If she's got these amazing powers, why couldn't she use them from inside the jet? Just wondering. Anyway, so, it's kind of an alternate X3, and it's got mentions of Jean/Scott but it's mostly Scott/Logan. And in that way, it's also a bit of a response fic to all of the stories out there that have a poor sad weepy weak Cyclops in them. I cannot abide.

It had been a good workout.  
  
Logan leapt down from a steep outcropping, retracting his claws just as he hit the ground. He let out a growl of victory, giving a swift kick to the smoldering ruin of a tank as he passed it by. A few feet ahead, Cyclops shook his head in remonstration, but his grin was unmistakable. He was as happy about the work as Logan.  
  
"Not bad," he said as Logan walked closer.  
  
Logan shrugged. "Almost took my head off with those blasts."  
  
He smirked. "Next time I'll try harder." Water dripped from his hair, a remnant of the last blast from a particularly cunning water-controlling mutant. The combination military/mutant attack had been one of the better ideas that the Danger Room simulator had come up with. It had taken four attempts for Logan and Summers to defeat it.  
  
Summers pushed his hair back and loosened the zipper at the collar of his uniform. Logan laughed. "Debriefing already?" he asked, stepping closer. Sweat glistened in the tiny triangle of visible skin at Summers's neck.  
  
Summers said nothing, just reached out. His gloved hand closed around the X of Logan's uniform and tugged him forward, and their mouths crashed together. Logan grunted, tasted blood from his lip, and growled again. So today it would be like this. Rough, fast, almost brutal. Fine by Logan. He gripped Summers by the biceps and shoved him back against the rock wall that he'd been sheltering against. Summers grunted but didn't pull his mouth from Logan's, and his hands were making short work of Logan's jeans. Logan used a single claw to free Summers from his uniform -- always in full combat dress, this guy, drove Logan absolutely nuts -- and then retracted it. Summers bit his neck and gripped his waist, ground against him, and Logan groaned. He jerked Summers by the arms and slammed him against the wall, face first, hearing a whoosh of surprised air escape. Logan was taut with energy and adrenaline, still running full throttle from battle, and he could smell the same mix of desire and energy coursing off of Summers.  
  
"Fuck!" Summers cried out as Logan pushed in with barely any preparation. One of his gloved fists pounded against the rock wall. Logan closed his hand around it, held it down with the strength of adamantium behind him. Summers bucked against him, resisting and asking for more at the same time, and Logan was glad to give it to him. He felt Summers sway as his legs gave out under the force of his own orgasm, and with one last thrust Logan came, too.  
  
When Logan pushed himself back, Summers sank to his knees, one hand trailing over the wall as he went, his head finally tipping forward to rest against the stone. Logan gripped his shoulder, worried for a second that Summers had passed out, but Summers nodded, letting Logan know he was fine, still with it. Logan turned around and rested against the wall, let himself slide down to the ground. He was fucked out, the adrenaline gone. He could barely force his fingers to start working on his fly.  
  
Next to him, Summers struggled to unfurl himself. He eventually put a hand out to Logan's shoulder and managed to lift himself up a little so he could turn around, and after he shifted what was left of his uniform back on, he lowered himself gingerly so he was sitting against the wall next to Logan.  
  
Logan took a good look at Summers. Sweat streamed from his hairline and around his visor, and his breathing had yet to slow. His uniform was torn down the front and barely clinging to his shoulders, and his chest had patches of sweat and dirt matted to it. His cheek had a rough patch of purplish-rouge from being pressed against the rock wall.   
  
"You OK?" Logan asked, knowing he'd been rougher than usual, perhaps rougher than ever before.  
  
"Just fine." Summers closed his eyes, something Logan could tell only because the red glow behind his visor dimmed.  
  
"Face got a little banged up, there," Logan murmured, running his thumb over the forming bruise.  
  
Summers shrugged. "I may not heal as fast as you, but I do it all the same," he said.   
  
It wasn't the first time he'd marked him. Hell, at first Logan had been real careful, had made sure to always draw back before his mouth could leave a bruise, before his fingers could clench too tightly. Not because he thought Summers was delicate, but because a mark like that might set Jean to wondering. Summers had never told him to back off, though, and as he seemed as willing as Logan to play rough sometimes, Logan had decided to stop his worrying. They had an agreement, after all: What happened in the Danger Room stayed there, which meant that the marks really weren't Logan's problem to deal with. If Summers was managing to keep his psychic girlfriend in the dark, then Logan thought probably he could come up with a good cover for a few bruises, too.  
  
Summers sat back and stretched his arms out over his head, then rolled his head around with a groan. "God, that was good today, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, we really nailed 'em," Logan agreed, buttoning his shirt.  
  
"And then you really nailed me," Summers said, and Logan chuckled.  
  
"I didn't hear you complaining."  
  
"Well, ask me when I try to sit down for dinner tonight, huh?"  
  
Summers was smiling, so Logan knew it was OK. He stood up and offered Summers a hand, but he waved it away.  
  
"Think I might stay here a bit, sort of get my head back on straight," Summers said, pushing away from the wall and then laying out flat on the ground. Logan couldn't help the admiring once-over he gave Summers, with his flat, muscled stomach exposed by the tear of his outfit.  
  
The outfit. "Say, how're you gonna get back with that thing torn to shreds?" Logan asked.  
  
Summers smiled. His eyes were closed again, and he had one arm under his head. "Don't make me give up all my secrets, Logan."  
  
Logan laughed and let himself out.  
  


* * *

  
  
Summers was called away that night to fly up to Manchester with Professor Xavier to pick up a runaway mutant. Logan didn't see him until the next evening at dinner. He looked no worse for the wear from Logan's view down the faculty table; his face hadn't bruised after all, or at least not enough that it was visible in the dim dining room light. When he left, though, Logan noticed he was limping slightly, and he had a dual reaction of guilt and arousal, knowing he was the cause. He decided to do something he'd never done before: seek Summers out outside the Danger Room.  
  
Summers had gone from dinner to his office, which was his usual pattern. Jean liked to work late in the lab, Logan knew from experience, so it seemed logical that they'd both be evening work people. Plus, it meant there was little to no chance that she'd stumble in.  
  
Logan rapped on the door and waited until he heard Summers call "Yeah, come in," before he opened it. Summers looked up from his desk in surprise. "Logan," he said, his voice instantly cool. This was how they were, still, outside of the Danger Room. Logan appreciated the rigid control, the discipline, that Summers had over his own emotions. It was part of what made him an excellent guy to go into battle with.  
  
"Gradin' papers?"  
  
"Yes, excellent observation," Summers said, but his tone wasn't too sharp. Nothing like it would've been a year ago. Logan closed the door. "Something I can help you with?"  
  
For a moment, Logan thought maybe that was a come on. Summers had said some similar things to him in the Danger Room. Here, though, there was no scent of desire, just the usual Summers mix of citrus cologne and grassy sweat. "Just checking in. On you," Logan said, leaning back against the door.  
  
Summers looked nonplussed. "Still here," he said, giving a shrug. "Still breathing. Still engaged to Jean. Not going anywhere."  
  
Logan nodded. "Right. Just - you were limping at dinner."  
  
Summers snorted. "Really, Logan, your concern is touching, if a little weird, but I'm fine. Just a casualty from the mission."  
  
"Right." Logan grinned. He couldn't help it. The mission. "Listen, about that. I mean, about yesterday. I was kind of rough. I didn't -- you know I didn't mean -"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
Summers sounded so truly bewildered that, for a moment, Logan wondered if he was going crazy. Then he laughed and shook his head. Discipline. "OK, never happened, got it."  
  
He winked at Summers, then turned and left. He laughed to himself again in the hallway. Guy was so well disciplined you couldn't break him in a closed-off room. You had to appreciate that.  
  


* * *

  
  
Logan went two days without seeing Summers in the Danger Room. It wasn't unusual. They didn't have a set schedule. Some days, Logan showed up, snapped on his simulation armband, and never caught so much as a scent of Summers. Some days, Summers was already in the room, warming up, when Logan walked in. They never talked about it. Logan always trained at the same time -- 4 in the afternoon, when the building became loud again as the kids got out of classes -- so it wasn't like he made a special effort to bend to Summers's schedule.  
  
They'd been doing it for almost two months now, since about a month after Logan had started working out in the Danger Room regularly. The Professor had recommended he start the sessions, probably sensing Logan's lingering boredom with just hanging around in the school, waiting for either an attack by outsiders or an attack of recall in his own brain. At first, Logan had found the Danger Room to be anything but dangerous; the pre-set scenarios that they used to train the upper-level kids weren't worth his time, and the scenarios for the practice of the faculty were mostly set up for an entire team. He'd mentioned this in passing to Professor Xavier and been rewarded, a few days later, with a simulator armband.  
  
"Wear it when you go in," Xavier had said. "I set up something similar for Scott a while ago. It's a fairly crude psychological relay device. In essence, it broadcasts your physiological and psychological strengths and weaknesses to the simulator, which is then able to calibrate a workout that will best address those things that it wouldn't hurt you to improve."  
  
"So I'm gonna walk in and find an etiquette teacher sitting in the room, is that it?"  
  
The professor had laughed. "It's a bit more sophisticated than that, Logan. Give me some credit."  
  
Logan had been wary of the device at first. Anything that was going to broadcast his thoughts didn't really seem like a good idea. But he'd had Jean and the professor break down the way the thing worked, and after a week's trial, he'd had to admit, the thing was good. The workouts had increased in difficulty and duration while also becoming a bit less predictable. Logan had started to look forward to his sessions in the Danger Room, because he'd never known what might show up next.  
  
Logan walked in that afternoon, simulator armband already locked on, and found the scenario revving up but no sign of Summers. He shrugged it off, rolling his head around and testing his surroundings. Dark, wet forest smells rolled up around him, and even as he looked out, he could see the trees forming into an impossibly high canopy overhead. The smells and sounds of animals were sharp in his nose, and Logan grinned and let his claws slide out. He'd been through here before.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he was crashing through the forest at full speed, weaving between poisonous blasts of green mucus from the mutant following him. He hooked his claws into the meat of a thick tree and started climbing, knowing without even looking back that he didn't have the time to get out of range.  
  
A welcome blast of red light zinged through the air, and before Logan could even glance backwards, the mucus mutant was toast. He craned his neck around the tree and saw Cyclops, hand still raised to his visor, standing about twenty feet away in front of a huge fir.  
  
"Nice of you to join us," Logan said, clambering back down. "I've had that guy on my tail forever."  
  
Summers shrugged. "And here I thought you could take care of yourself."  
  
Logan's feet hit the ground just as a sharp, horrifying screech filled the air. The noise felt like pain in his head, and Logan scratched himself trying to cover his ears before his claws were fully retracted. To the side, he saw a wild burst of red light, then heard an ominous cracking. When he glanced over, he saw Summers kneeling, bent toward the ground, hands over his ears, fingers at the controls for his visor. The tree he'd just blasted was heading right toward him.  
  
"Cyclops!" he shouted, but his voice made no imprint over the unholy wail. He pushed himself to his feet, but the noise had somehow weakened him, and he could only stumble forward in what felt like slow motion. Summers looked up just as Logan yelled his name again, and his eyes must have caught the motion of the tree, because he jerked backwards, and another stream of red light shot forth. Not enough, though, Logan realized as the tree crashed to Earth, battering him with branches as it fell before him.  
  
Logan ducked and covered his head, waiting for the tree to settle. The sound of the crash was so deafening that Logan was on his feet again before he realized that the horrible noise had stopped. Maybe Summers hadn't made an out-of-control shot; maybe the thing making the noise had been in the tree. Logan sniffed, trying to pick up the scent of anything, but only the sharp tang of dying tree and unsettled earth filled his nostrils. He breathed in again and registered another absence. Summers was nowhere on the air.   
  
Logan pushed frantically through the tangle of limbs before him, using his claws to slash a path up to the trunk and then again to help him vault it. He stood on the felled trunk for a moment, looking out and around, trying to find a flash of black or red that might be Summers. He called his name -- both names -- but heard nothing. His heart was hammering in his chest, his instincts taking over. There it was -- the thin scent of Cyclops, of Summers, under the crush of fresh splintered wood. He leapt forward, nearly going to all fours to navigate.  
  
The further he went, the less intact tree there was to push around. He could see Summers, turned on his side, just a few yards away. The wood around him had been scorched and splintered, not just felled, by his last blast, and Logan felt a crack of relief in his chest when he realized Summers wasn't crushed. He'd expected to find him pinned under an immoveable chunk of tree-trunk. Instead, he was curled slightly on his left side, his gloved hands thrown up over his face. Classic protective posture. Discipline, Logan thought, dropping down next to him. He was suddenly glad he hadn't called to end the simulation.  
  
"Wake up, Summers," he said, shaking his shoulder. His fingers came back a little sticky. Logan took a quick breath. Blood. He leaned down and saw a piece of wood the length and breadth of a good dagger embedded just under Summers's shoulder blade. "Aw, fuck," he said. No way was that thing coming out without a doctor around. Logan knew enough about stab wounds to know that often the thing stuck inside was all that was holding the blood in. He looked around, then grumbled, "End simulation." Nothing happened, not so much as a shimmer. Fuck. He'd never had to stop a simulation mid-stream before. He'd always fought either to its end or his own. The machine was programmed not to allow fatalities, but apparently it wasn't calibrated to stop serious injuries. Jesus, Danger Room indeed.  
  
He shook Summers a little harder, and he began to stir with a groan. "Hey, buddy, wake up," Logan said, holding him steady.  
  
"What - Christ," he said, his mouth tightening into a sharp line.  
  
"Got a bit of tree in you," Logan said, not looking at the protruding piece of wood. He kept his hands steady on Summers's arms. "Think you can get Jean from here?"  
  
Jean and Summers had a pretty strong mind bond at times, but Logan didn't fully understand the mechanics. The red glow faded for a moment, then returned. "No," he admitted. His face was twisted in pain. "Not sure I can walk, either."  
  
"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea." Logan put his hand on Summers's face, an idle move to comfort him, and Summers twisted into it, his mouth brushing Logan's palm. "Sit tight, pal, I'm gonna get her. Bring her right back."  
  
He nodded. One of his hands raised and tapped Logan on the wrist. "End the simulation?"  
  
Logan shrugged. "I tried it."  
  
Summers's eyes closed again. "Hurry, all right?"  
  
Logan took off running.  
  
Finding the door wasn't too hard, at least. He re-traced his own steps through the jungle, and there it was, a slight shimmer at the edge of the forest. He contemplated jamming his claws into the computer screen attached to the door, just shorting the whole thing out, but he'd learned enough about the wiring and programming at the mansion to know that he was just as likely to get Summers stuck in the forest forever as to bring him closer to rescue by messing with the system. So he tapped the red exit button and burst into the hall.  
  
Jean was sitting with a student in her office just off the main infirmary. Logan didn't bother knocking, just flung the door open and said, "Come now."  
  
"Logan -"  
  
"It's Summers."  
  
Jean pushed her chair back. "Scott?" Logan nodded. Jean stood and followed him into the infirmary. She shooed the student out, her voice falsely calm. Logan could smell the fear rolling off of her. "What happened?"  
  
"Some kind of malfunction in the Danger Room," Logan said as she studied a rack of medical tools. "Grab a bag or something, he took a pretty bad hit."  
  
"A hit? In the head?" Jean whirled around, though a gray metal case had already begun to fly down from the top of a tall shelf.  
  
"Stabbed," Logan said. Jean's eyes narrowed, and Logan grunted. He knew what he must look like, mud and a bit of Summers's blood smeared on his shirt. "Not by me. It was a tree. We gonna gab about this or you coming?"  
  
Jean grabbed the case floating before them, and they took off down the hallway. She kept up with him well, and they reached the Danger Room in no time flat. Logan punched the entry code and tapped his fingers restlessly against his pants leg until the doors slid open.  
  
The room beyond them had faded back to its usual silvery-gray. No forest. No tree. And, most importantly, no Summers.  
  
"What the fuck?" Logan said, stepping inside.  
  
Jean followed him in. The doors slid neatly closed behind them, leaving them lit only in the sparse white runner lights. Logan spun around twice, thinking maybe this was a ruse. He went over and tapped the far wall, then turned back to Jean.  
  
She was frowning at him. "Logan, really. This is -- this has got to be the lamest attempt at getting me alone you've ever tried."  
  
"It's not -- he was right here!" Logan said, turning one more time. Not even a hint of Summers in the air. "Fuck! Is it -- do you think the system, could it hide him from us?"  
  
"Oh, grow up, Logan." Jean turned, and the door opened smoothly.   
  
Logan raced after her, heart still pounding. "He was right here! Look in my mind, Jean! This isn't a trick. Something is really fucking wrong here!"  
  
Jean sighed and turned. She shoved the case into Logan's arms, and as he held it, she put her hands on either side of his face. He felt the tiniest tremor of dizziness as her mind brushed his, and then he closed his eyes and let the images -- of Summers, lying on the ground, the wood in his back -- rise.  
  
Jean gasped but didn't draw away. Logan's thoughts tumbled impatiently. His hands itched. He wanted to be doing something, attacking something, fucking fixing the whole mess. "See? You see? He's hurt, we've got to -"  
  
The sting of Jean's hand across his face was completely unexpected. Logan's head snapped to the right. "What the hell?"  
  
Jean's face was red. "You -- you were touching -- you were --"  
  
"Whoa, whoa, hey," Logan said, taking a step back as her hand came up again. "Hey, focus, look, we gotta find -"  
  
"Scott's fine," Jean spat.  
  
"What -- he's not, you saw, you just -"  
  
"Oh, see for yourself."  
  
Even as she said it, Logan heard the sound of rushing footsteps behind him. The peppery sunshine scent of Summers coupled with his strong voice, calling Jean's name, cut the tense string of panic that had been holding Logan together. He turned just in time to see Summers slide past him, reaching for Jean. "Jean, what's going on? I was in class and I felt -"  
  
The slap she'd reserved for Summers looked to be twice as potent as the one Logan had received. Summers stumbled backwards, holding the right side of his face, just where he'd had the bruise earlier in the week. "What the hell?"  
  
"I don't know what kind of game you're playing," Jean said -- no, snarled -- "but this -- I never --"  
  
Logan felt a brief flicker of rage and guttural, visceral hurt in his mind just before Jean turned and ran down the hall. The door slammed behind her before either man could move.  
  
Summers turned to Logan, his face such an exaggerated mask of surprise and fear and bewilderment that Logan would have laughed if Jean's pain wasn't still ringing in his head.  
  
"What the hell happened?"  
  
Logan caught his breath. Summers had turned after Jean, and Logan was staring at his back. Not a scratch on him. He shook his head and took a step backwards. "I don't know," he admitted. He sniffed again, deeply, but nothing had changed. The Summers before him was as real as the Summers in the Danger Room. Logan raised his hand and brushed his fingers over Summers's shirt from the back. Not the slightest hint of distress.  
  
Summers turned and have him an incredulous look. "She knows," Logan said quietly, keeping his eyes focused on Summers's shining red glasses. Summers's eyebrows knit together.  
  
"Knows what, exactly?"  
  
Logan laughed, not at all amused. "Right. I forgot. Do we have to step inside to talk about this?" He gestured toward the Danger Room door.   
  
Summers stared at him for a moment, then took a step closer. "When I find out what you've done to Jean, and I will find out, I'm going to come and find you."   
  
Logan could practically smell the threat rolling off of Summers, and for the first time in at least an hour, he knew exactly how to respond. He stepped forward slightly, deep into personal space that he knew so well, and nodded.  
  
"You do that," he said, growling a little and thumping Summers in the chest. He didn't wait around to hear his reply or smell his desire.


	2. Chapter 2

Midnight found Logan in the kitchen, sipping one of the beers that he kept hidden in the pantry. The mansion was quiet around him. For once, all of the kids seemed to be on a normal sleep cycle -- or at least they were trying to act like it. No one sitting up in the lounge, no one whispering through walls, just a cool quiet April night.  
  
He still hadn't managed to clear his head completely from the workout session earlier in the day. He figured the Summers in the simulation had been just that, part of the simulation, and that was probably why he hadn't been able to pick up much of a scent off of him. More troubling was the idea that the simulator could replicate such a convincing version of Summers. But it had been a strange scenario from the start. Summers had never just appeared out of nowhere before, so it wasn't like all of their sessions could've been fake.  
  
Logan nodded to himself and took a long drink of the beer. It wasn't exactly cold, but it was better than soda or tea. Tonight, he needed this.  
  
He'd been taken aback the first time Summers had joined him in the Danger Room, but Summers had immediately scowled back and explained that it was the professor's idea that he stop in. By the end of the session, Logan had been grudgingly glad to have had Cyclops at his side; it seemed he'd graduated to two-person scenarios.  
  
The sex had started a few weeks after. They'd tackled an extraordinarily difficult scenario, and during the victory lap -- which was what Logan had come to calling their usual post-session discussion -- he'd noticed that Summers was hard. He'd made a smart remark, and Summers, instead of giving a typical chilly, controlled response, had shot right back that if Logan was bothered by it, he was welcome to take care of it. It had been such a challenge, such a dare, that Logan'd had his hand on Summers's dick and his tongue in Summers's mouth before he could even think it through. The first time had been pure instinct and adrenaline rush.  
  
It wasn't always like that, though. For a while, yeah, it'd been rough-and-tumble prove-yourself sex every time, and it had been only in victory. But things had gradually changed. As their teamwork in the scenarios had improved, so, too, had the quality of their relationship. There had still been fast, dirty fucking on the ground, but there had also been times when they'd just sat against the wall and laughed, trading war stories. They'd started kissing more, touching more, talking more. Logan wasn't sure what he was to or with Summers outside of the simulation room, but inside, they were comrades. They were partners.  
  
Logan set his empty bottle on the counter and thought briefly about whether he should have another. Fuck it, he thought, standing up and crossing to the pantry. It was his last one, but he could always borrow Summers's bike and go into town for more tomorrow.  
  
Or maybe not. He heard the thrum of an engine almost at the same time he thought the word. For a moment, he thought it was Summers, the rev of his precious bike, but the rhythm was wrong. It was the Blackbird, returning with Storm and Professor Xavier, if Logan remembered what he'd overheard earlier in the day.   
  
Logan felt a flicker of relief at the idea of the professor's return. It would be good to have him home. Weirdly, the mansion never felt as secure to Logan without Xavier in residence. The professor invoked a mix of emotions -- awe, fear, envy, even a bit of annoyance -- in Logan, but mostly, over everything, he respected the man. Xavier was probably the most powerful mutant Logan had even been around. The things he could do with his mind scared the shit out of Logan, but he also felt their promise. If anyone was going to help him uncover his past, it would be the professor.  
  
And, Logan thought, taking a sip of his new beer, if anyone could help untangle the present problem, wouldn't it be the professor? Though he couldn't imagine himself standing in front of the professor and trying to explain his and Summers's not-completely-casual sex relationship, he also knew that if anyone was going to try and get it, it would be Professor Xavier. So tomorrow, that's who he'd need to see.  
  
The thought was calming, somehow. Logan wouldn't even need to talk, he'd just sit and think and the professor would get it. Everything could get cleared up. No talking, none of this messy hurt and anger anymore. The professor would know what to do.  
  
Logan drained his beer and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin. He started down the hall, deciding it was about time to head for bed, when he heard another familiar noise lance out across the night.  
  
"Speak of the devil," he muttered, pausing at the main entrance. What in the hell would Summers be doing on his bike at this time of night? Logan turned and walked back down the hall, listening to the faint hum of the motor across the still night air. Summers, all right. No one else was that conscientious about warming up the engine.  
  
Logan stepped into the garage and let the door slam, knowing that even over the thrum of the engine, Summers would know he was there. Sure enough, he saw his shoulder twitch, and after a moment, his head tipped to the side, chin jutting out.  
  
"You don't want to be around me right now, Logan," he said. His glasses had been replaced by the goggles he often wore at night. They had a fainter ruby coating, thin enough that it was evident when Summers blinked. Logan walked forward slowly, keeping his arms crossed -- which was the closest he could come to neutral position.  
  
He leaned against the car nearest the bike and kept his eyes on Summers's face. Summers looked away, straight out of the garage, his hands on the handlebars but his feet still on the ground.  
  
"Jean taking it pretty hard, then?" he asked, his voice washed out by the rumble of the bike.  
  
Summers's mouth twisted in a grimace. "You're kidding, right? You're not seriously standing here asking me about this, like it's – like you didn't –" He took a deep breath. "You told my fiancée that we're having sex!"  
  
Logan shrugged. "What did you want me to say, that we're practicing ballet?"  
  
The deep grooves beside Summers's lips, places Logan liked to touch, suddenly smoothed as his mouth fell open. He gaped at Logan for a moment, then seemed to get himself back under control even as Logan watched, fascinated. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.  
  
"I never wanted to hurt Jean," Logan answered honestly. "You know that."  
  
"I know shit," Summers said. He kicked the bike loose with one smooth motion, and before Logan could say anything else, he rode out into the night.  
  


* * *

  
  
Usually, Logan found teaching to be something between a chore and a game. He had two classes, a thrice-weekly self-defense and survival course just before lunch and a later conditioning course that the older students were eligible to participate in three times a week. Summers had suggested that he might add an advanced section of the self-defense class in the fall for the students who'd been with him for the full year, and Logan had been toying with the thought. Watching students clambering up a rock wall set out in the mansion grounds, Logan felt a gruff resistance to idea. Setting up another class would mean committing to stay another year. No way. With this annoying stuff brewing between him and Jean and Summers, he was regretting saying he'd stay through this full term.  
  
He'd agreed to stay in a moment of weakness, just because the professor had asked. They'd just returned from the Alkali Lake mission, all shaken from everything that had happened there and after. Logan had finally mapped out part of his past, and he hadn't been so eager to find out more. The hints that Stryker had dropped had disturbed him, and the professor's invitation - to stay at the school, to be part of the team, to have a safe place to lick his mental wounds - had been too good to resist.  
  
Beyond that, there'd been a shift in the team that had made staying seem more possible. Jean's spectacular display of power at the lake had made something crystal clear to Logan: things between them were never going to work. She'd been standing next to him inside the Blackbird when she'd gone into the telepathic trance that had allowed her to lift the entire plane and hold back the rushing waters. Her smell had changed, and her eyes had glowed. In that moment, she'd ceased to be the Jean Grey that Logan had first seen and fallen for. She'd been, instead, something beyond that, someone far more complex and, if he was honest, horrifying.  
  
Logan looked up and saw Bobby Drake offering another kid a hand as he stumbled. He moved closer to the wall in case anyone fell. Jean used to sometimes come out and supervise this exercise with him, because her telekinesis had made catching clumsy climbers a bit less work. He hadn't asked her to come out in a while, though, not since things had started becoming regular with Summers.   
  
When she'd collapsed, it had been Summers who'd rushed to her, Summers who had held her until she stirred back into consciousness, Summers whose name she had murmured on waking. If he'd been afraid, Logan had seen no sign, neither then nor since. Though Logan still caught glimpses of the super-powered woman from the lake at times, in a bolder word or stronger flare of power, as far as he could see, things had been pretty close to normal between Summers and Jean.  
  
Though now, Summers and Jean weren't speaking to each other. Logan had observed that over breakfast. Summers had kept to the far end of the faculty table, while Jean had taken a separate, smaller table with Storm and an older student that Logan didn't recognize. Of course, neither Summers nor Jean was speaking to him, and it seemed some of the other faculty members were following their lead. An off-handed comment to Storm after breakfast had elicited only a cold glare, and Hank McCoy, their visiting science instructor, had ducked out of the kitchen immediately upon his arrival.  
  
At least his students weren't avoiding him. Attendance was, as always, perfect.  
  
"All right, that's enough," Logan shouted as the last straggler was pulled to the top of the wall. "Remember, got an exam coming up on this. Individual climbing." The kids nodded, and Logan could smell their anxiety. "See you in two days. Misty, help 'em down."  
  
The blue-haired girl at the top of the wall summoned up a staircase built of clouds, and a touch from Bobby froze the mists solid enough to let them walk down. As they passed him, Logan kept his head down, shuffling up the papers he'd used to mark their grades. Everyone had earned a completion grade today. He'd been too distracted for much constructive criticism.  
  
"Logan."  
  
"Marie," he said, nodding. Marie had been emboldened by the mission to Alkali Lake. Feeling like a part of the brotherhood with her brief taste of their mission - and her even briefer stint as the pilot of the Blackbird - had made her more determined than ever to develop her powers and body to peak levels. She wanted to be an X-man more than anything these days. It was pretty heartening. "Nice climbing up there, kid."  
  
"The gloves helped." She held out her hands, palms up, revealing thin rubber treads on the palms and fingers. Similar to the uniform gloves that the field team wore on missions.   
  
Logan laughed. "Hey, take your advantages where you can get 'em." He curled the progress notes up and stuffed them in his jacket pocket, then started back toward the mansion, Marie at his side. At least someone was still talking to him.  
  
"Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Marie paused for a minute, and Logan stopped with her. "Is it true, what they're saying? About you and Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey?"  
  
Logan's eyes narrowed. He'd spent the morning away from the mansion after overhearing a bit of whispering at breakfast. No telling what the rumors had become by now. "That depends on what they're saying."  
  
"Kids - people are saying you broke them up." Marie paused again, her teeth sinking into her lower lip for a moment. "They're saying you and Dr. Grey were having an affair."  
  
Logan snorted. "That ain't true." Marie looked relieved. They started walking again. "What, you thought maybe?" Logan asked, looking at her sidelong.  
  
"It's just, it was kind of obvious you had a thing for her," she said with a shrug. Logan reached out and grabbed her shoulder, saw that Marie was blushing.  
  
"What do you mean, obvious?"  
  
She shrugged again. Her words came out rapid-fire. "Last year, when we were on the mission and we were all camped out - I saw you two beneath the airplane. You looked pretty darned cozy. And everyone knows that you and Cyclops - Mr. Summers - don't get along."  
  
"Everyone knows, huh?" he said, dropping his arm.  
  
"Sure," she said, starting toward the mansion again. "I mean, you stole his bike -"  
  
"Two years ago," Logan growled.  
  
"And you're always gripin' at each other. Gettin' each other riled up." She stopped outside the main doors. "Anyway, I'm glad it's not true, about you and Dr. Grey." Logan tipped his head to one side, afraid, suddenly, to hear what might come next. Marie was a good kid, but she was exactly that: a kid. A kid with a crush, as he'd been warned many times, including by Jean.  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"I don't think Cyclops - Mr. Summers - is someone you want that kind of angry at you." She paused with her hand on the door. "I mean, Bobby and I, we've been together somethin' like a year now, and every time another girl slides up, I want to go over and grab her, you know?" Logan nodded. He knew exactly how severe that threat was. "And Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey, they're engaged. Practically legendary. They've been together for years." She looked back at Logan with such trust, such innocent respect and admiration, that Logan had to look away. "Anyway, that's what I told the others. You're not the kind of guy who'd break that up. Not for nothing."  
  
Logan tried to smile. He held open the mansion door for Marie. Not for nothing. "C'mon, get to class, kid."  
  
"See you later, Logan."  
  
He watched Marie walk away and stood frozen in the entryway. Logan felt ready to either hop on Summers's bike and split or head down to the Danger Room for an extended ass-kicking session. Of course, Summers would  _really_  never forgive him if he took the bike again, and he wasn't sure he'd forgive himself – or be able to control himself – if he went back downstairs. So he turned, instead, toward the professor's office.  
  
Outside the door, he waited for a moment with his hand raised. He could hear voices within – familiar voices, the low melodic burr of Professor Xavier matched to a higher, broader voice. Jean. Logan started to turn around, but not fast enough.  
  
 _Come in, Logan_.  
  
He silently cursed the professor's telepathy, then winced as he realized that thought had probably been sensed, too. He shook himself and threw the door open. No use being afraid.  
  
"I've heard far worse curses than that," Xavier said mildly as Logan stepped inside. His eyes had their usual twinkle and warmth, and Logan felt comforted in spite of himself. He hadn't even realized that he'd been expecting the professor to throw him out on his ass for breaking up his favorite kids.  
  
Jean, on the other hand, did not look happy to see him. She was sitting in one of the armchairs, Professor Xavier just across from her. The box of tissues in his lap had clearly been offered to her, as her face was still red from crying.  
  
Something in Logan's gut twisted horribly. His hands itched, and he wanted to reach back for the doorknob, the hallway, anywhere but here. "I'll come back," he said.  
  
"No, Logan, I'm glad you're here," Xavier said. He gestured toward a chair that Logan had no intention of sitting in. "Jean's just been telling me she thinks, perhaps, that it's time you left us."  
  
Logan leaned against the wall. This courtesy was far worse than anger. "I –" he started, but the professor cut him off.  
  
"And I was saying how ridiculous that would be, when clearly you've made such serious strides." Logan let his mouth close, tried to restrain his reaction to a single raised eyebrow. "Well, you're here, for one, instead of racing down the road at the first sign of a problem. That feels like progress to me."  
  
Logan shrugged. "Any port in a storm," he said.  
  
"What a thing to say," Jean muttered, casting a very dark glare his way. The hairs on the back of Logan's neck stood up.  
  
"There is, of course, the issue of your, ah, shall we say, extra  _training_  with Scott at issue."  
  
Jean huffed a bitter laugh, looking away from Logan and out the window. Logan rubbed his neck. He couldn't really imagine a worse way for this conversation to go. "Look, really, I'll come back later," he said, taking a step toward the door.  
  
"No, you'll stay," Jean said, and Logan felt the force of her words in his spine. When the foot that he'd lifted to walk finally fell to the ground a second later, he stumbled. Telekinesis at its best.  
  
"That's quite enough of that," the professor said, looking sharply at Jean. "Logan, though, perhaps I could persuade you to wait just a moment. I believe I have the answer to this puzzling turn of events."  
  
Logan paced over to the fireplace, staying behind Jean. Her hands were clenched tightly on the arms of the chair, knuckles pink and white. He felt equal parts sympathy for and fear of her.  
  
"Ah, good," the professor said a moment before the door opened, admitting with it the cool scent and presence of Scott Summers.  
  
Summers glanced from Jean to Logan, then over to the professor. He looked as ready to run as Logan felt, but Summers was, of course, much more studied in obeying the professor's orders. "Have a seat, Scott," the professor said, motioning to the other armchair. Summers looked again at Logan, a completely inscrutable look, then took his seat. He crossed his arms and seemed to be staring out the window, though from his vantage point, Logan couldn't see his face at all. "Now, I have a fair picture of what's happened here. In fact, I think I may have a better picture than anyone in this room."  
  
Summers leaned forward immediately. "Professor," he said, half-turned toward him, "it's not like she's saying. I never –"  
  
"I know that, Scott," he murmured, holding up a hand.  
  
"Wait a second –" Logan said, even as he heard Jean protesting as well. It was one thing for the professor to pick favorites; it was something else entirely if he was going to believe Scott Summers's lies over Logan's own memories.  
  
"Now, wait, Logan, Jean. I absolutely believe Scott when he says that he has not been having any kind of sexual affair with Logan." Summers nodded crisply. "I also completely believe Logan's story."  
  
"Thank you," Logan said, then he tipped his head. "Wait – what?"  
  
The professor smiled his most infuriating, patient smile. "Logan has been training in the Danger Room for a little over three months now, using one of the simulator armbands. I calibrated it to him precisely – almost as neatly as I managed to calibrate yours, Scott." Summers nodded, but Logan could tell just from his body language that he was just as confused as Logan. "Jean, are you familiar with the simulators?"  
  
She nodded. "They function using a complex matrix of physical and psychic prompts and develop a course matched to the individual's strengths and weaknesses."  
  
"Yes, precisely," the professor said. "And in Logan's case, one of the main weaknesses that the machine was able to pick up on was a disdain for teamwork and team-building. So, in the effort to neutralize this, it created a teammate for him to bond with."  
  
Logan let his brain filter through the impromptu lesson, then blinked and stepped away from the hearth. Created a teammate? "You mean none of it – nothing that happened – was real?"  
  
The professor shook his head, looking a bit sad. "I'm afraid that, as far as the simulation of Scott was concerned, yes, Logan. It was just a simulation."  
  
"Logan's been having sex with a simulated version of me in the Danger Room for the last three months?" Summers's voice dripped with disgust and disbelief, and Logan bit back a growl.  
  
"It would seem so, yes."  
  
"But his memories were so clear," Jean insisted, leaning forward. Logan was a bit surprised at the desperation in her voice.  
  
"As they well would be." The professor turned in his chair to face Summers. "Scott, how many years have you been working out in the Danger Room?"  
  
Summers shrugged. "Since it was built, practically."  
  
"Yes, precisely. That machine knows you better than anyone, I would think. It's not at all surprising that it was able to generate such a convincing representation." The professor crossed his hands and looked up at Logan. "Logan, I owe you an apology. I had no idea that the simulations would become so – involved."  
  
"Yeah, fine, whatever," he said. He felt numb and heavy. Summers still had his arms crossed, and his shoulders radiated tension. A tiny, disbelieving part of Logan's mind wanted to rest his hands there, to look down at Summers and realize it was all a mistake. He pressed one fist to his forehead. Indiscriminate anger had started to bubble in his chest. He stepped closer to the chairs and turned on Jean. "So, wait, if this is all in my head, how come you didn't just look in Summers's mind last night and figure the whole thing out?"  
  
Jean squirmed uncomfortably in her chair and kept her eyes cast away from Logan and Summers. "She did," Summers said flatly, though Logan couldn't make himself turn to face him. "She just didn't believe me."  
  
"It's very hard to discount something once the mind has observed it," the professor said calmly. "We are very much a seeing-is-believing culture."  
  
Logan sniffed. Summers's scent wafted up through the air, and his head started to hurt again. He turned for the door. He could not stay and listen to the post-mortems on this one. "Since we got this all cleared up, I've got a class to get ready for." He ignored the protest brushed into his mind in the professor's voice and pushed, instead, into the hallway.  
  
 _Well, there's that_ , he thought, pacing down the hall until he came to his own door. Three months of training, two months of this thing, this good thing, with Summers, and none of it was true. Inside, he leaned back against the wood and let his claws come out, watched them tremble with rage and the aftershock of humiliation. It turned out nothing was getting better. Everything a lie, everything he'd been enjoying for the past two months, all of it gone. Summers still with Jean, Summers still his enemy and rival. Logan let his own newly acquired discipline slip away. The crunching impact of his claws against the dark wall felt almost cleansing.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time he returned from his evening conditioning class, Logan's rage had slowed to a simmer. In part, this was because he'd taken some of it out on his class. Those kids would really be feeling it tomorrow, Logan thought, opening the door to his room with a rueful grin. He'd have to ask Bobby to make some extra ice packs.  
  
The claw marks on the wall shamed him as he pulled off his shirt. He was still angry, but that was no reason to take it out on the mansion. Logan sat on the bed and rubbed his face. The whole day had been frustrating and embarrassing, not feelings he was used to. He took of his jeans and settled back into bed in his shorts, throwing off the sheets. Just down the hall, Jean and Summers were probably sitting up in bed, talking about what kind of guy he was that his psyche had been calling up sex fantasies with Summers for the last few months. Christ. Logan closed his eyes. Ever since the talk in the professor's office, his veins had been thrumming with the desire to flee. Maps floated through his mind, routes old and new that he might wander down, paths taken only in far distant, patchy memory. Maybe it would be easier to just roam for a while. Maybe it was time to stop running from the suggested past that Stryker had mentioned and, instead, to seek it out. Could be he'd find only secrets about himself that he didn't want to know, but still, they were his secrets.  
  
Logan rolled on to his side and punched his pillow, fluffing it up under his head. Of course, he'd miss things like this: his own room, his own things around him, the comforts that the mansion provided. Sure, it was a little stifling at times, what with the schedules and the kids always underfoot and the professor watching over everything, but Logan had started to adapt to it. He'd started thinking of the school community as his place to be, his band to protect and belong _with_ , if not necessarily  _to_. He'd started to settle in.  
  
All of that had unraveled in the last day. Summers wasn't at all who Logan had thought, or he was exactly who Logan had originally thought he was: cool, aloof, superior, no one Logan could come to terms with. The school that had only a few days ago felt welcoming and warm now felt too close, too regimented. Too disciplined. It was time to leave, Logan thought, slipping into a light doze. Time to move on.  
  
They took shifts being on call in the night. Logan had been on the field mission call roster since their return from Alkali Lake, though only within the last month had he been included in the rotation for in-house duty. He wasn't a great first responder for problems like middle-of-the-night homesickness attacks, but he'd been very useful in getting a kid down from one of the big trees in the yard last week, and he'd managed to break up two fights (one in the girls' dorm and one in the kitchen) the week before.  
  
The older kids took the night watch duties on a bi-weekly rotation, so that they all had one overnight shift every two weeks. The mansion had an extraordinary electronics set-up, a brainchild of the professor's after the Mutant Registration Act had nearly slid through Congress. A hub of televisions and Internet sources were monitored 24 hours a day in a narrow basement room by a well-trained computer filtering system. When certain words – say "mutant" and "terrorist" and "recent" – appeared in combination in a report, the computer evaluated the source and sent an appropriate alert to a monitor in the Watch Room. This was where the overnight observers stayed. If an alert reached a certain critical level – usually if a similar story was being simultaneously reported through several different, credible outlets – then the alert would wake the observer on duty. The kids were trained to figure out what called for immediate intervention and what might just as easily be passed on until the next morning. Then, if the threat was immediate and credible, the observer woke the field person on duty, and things escalated from there.  
  
Marie woke Logan from a distance, with a firm knock and then a gentle call of his name. He snapped up in bed but kept his claws in. "What?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"You're on tonight as the field guy," Marie said. Her black gloves and black robe made her nearly disappear in his room. Logan turned on the bedside light and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He knew there would be coffee in the observation room; it was the only thing that made it possible for him to climb out of bed.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked, following Marie out into the hallway.  
  
She shook her head. "It's easier to explain in there."  
  
Her steps were sharp and quick, and he could tell she was worried. Marie was the best observer they had. If she was worried, then Logan's night's sleep was probably already gone.  
  
Inside the observation room, four televisions were tuned to different news broadcasts. One was showing weather and two had sports; the fourth was rolling a commercial. Logan relaxed a little and poured himself a cup of coffee. If the news wasn't breaking in to programming, he didn't need to be so worried.  
  
"There's been a mining accident," Marie said, handing Logan a sheet of paper.  
  
Logan's eyes still felt heavy and gritty from sleep. He took the paper but didn't study it. "Yeah? What happened?"  
  
"A big collapse up in Kentucky. Middle of the night, the whole thing just caved in, from the bottom to the entrance."   
  
Logan took a sip of his coffee and kept looking at Marie, waiting for this to sound like an emergency. "There were guys inside?" he asked. Surely Marie hadn't made this mistake. They were X-men, not a search-and-rescue squad.  
  
"A few," she said, shrugging, "but that's not the point. Logan, the mine didn't just cave in – it sunk. It's like all of the metal content anywhere in that vein of earth just vanished in the middle of the night."  
  
Logan set his coffee cup down. "Magneto," he muttered, and Marie nodded.  
  
"There's three other mines in that area," she said. "It's one of the richest sources of iron ore in the United States. If he's planning something new, something where he'd need a lot of metal –"  
  
"Then that would be a good place to hit." Logan reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "You did good, kid. Might be we have a chance of snaring him tonight."  
  
Marie laid out a map of the area, including the three mines nearest the one that had just collapsed. Logan sent her to wake the professor, then leaned over and studied the map himself. They'd need to fly in, and pronto. Of course it was a bit of a risk to get the Blackbird too close to Magneto, but that was a necessary risk. Logan, himself, wasn't the best choice to face Magneto, but where there was Magneto, there was Mystique. His senses were invaluable in tracking her.  
  
Logan traced the route from the mansion to the mines that Marie had laid out. He made a slight correction in her landing position – she'd chosen an open field, perfect for a good landing but with no available cover. Logan highlighted a spot just to the West, a smaller clearing with forest coverage on three sides. Summers would have no trouble dropping the bird into that nest.  
  
Summers. Logan cursed. Of course, he'd have to go along. Storm was on in-house duty that night, and she was the only other good pilot they had. Logan wasn't instrument-rated on the Blackbird, and he had no real desire to learn. He was good in a crisis if the resolution depended upon brute force; in a plane crash, he had no doubt that he'd be the type to smash his claws through the entire instrument panel. No, a pilot needed the type of studied calm that Summers could maintain. He would be the logical choice for the mission.  
  
"Good evening, Logan," the professor said, rolling in next to Marie. "I understand we may have located Magneto."  
  
"May have," Logan agreed. He passed over the satellite images while Marie summarized her findings. Her voice stayed smooth and calm. She was really growing up good, Logan thought, watching her hand Xavier a sheet outlining the metallic composition of the mines. Getting pretty good at this X-man stuff.  
  
Logan heard footsteps in the hallway long before the door opened. Summers and Storm strode directly to the table, though Logan caught a half-second's hesitation in Summers's step. Guy didn't even want to be in the same room with him. Fucking fantastic, Logan thought. They'd kill each other on the plane.  
  
Marie told the story again for the full audience, and Xavier immediately agreed with Logan's initial assessment: this was an opportunity that could not be missed. Magneto had been off their radar since just after Alkali Lake; pinpointing his location was one of Professor Xavier's prime goals at the moment. They had to fly out and see if Magneto or any of his associates could be found, and if so, they needed to bring them back.  
  
"All right. Cyclops, Wolverine, take the Blackbird. Report back to me as soon as you're on the ground. Let us know what we should expect."  
  
"No." Summers spoke without lifting his hands from the map. Logan managed not to flinch, but only barely.  
  
"Scott, you have a different proposal?"  
  
Summers shook his head. "The plan's fine, but I'm not going. Not with him."  
  
"Scott –"  
  
"No." He looked right at Xavier, and Logan could practically see the conversation going on in their minds. Marie stepped closer and put a gloved hand on his shoulder, and Logan realized she expected him to be angry, ready to attack. He nodded to her, and she offered a supportive, if somewhat scolding smile. Finally, Xavier sighed. "Very well. Storm, if you don't mind?"  
  
"I'm in-house tonight," she said.  
  
"I'm certain Scott wouldn't mind covering for you." Xavier started to turn, but Logan stepped forward and he stopped.  
  
"How about I don't go?" Logan said. Xavier looked surprised, as did Summers, in the blink when he looked up at Logan. "Sendin' a guy made outta steel and a lady who shoots lightning bolts toward a guy controlling a big hunk of conductive metal doesn't seem like a real sound plan to me." He glanced at Storm. "No offense."  
  
"No, I think you have a point," she said. She glared at Summers in a way that made even Logan feel a little embarrassed.   
  
"Yes, I do, too," Xavier said. Only the tilt of his head and the tiny shift in Summers's posture tipped Logan off to the conversation this time, but he could guess what it was about. If Logan and Storm were out, Summers and Jean would be the next logical pair.  
  
"I'll take Hank, if he'll go," Summers said finally.   
  
Xavier nodded. He looked very tired. "I think that could be arranged. Marie, would you mind asking Dr. McCoy to join us?"  
  
She squeezed Logan's shoulder and leaned in. Her voice was barely louder than the sound of breath, just like he'd taught her. "Don't kill Cyclops 'less I'm here to watch, all right?"  
  
He grinned and nodded. She walked out, and Logan turned back to the table where Summers and Xavier had begun conferring over the best approach to take. Logan had some ideas on that, but he could tell that his voice wasn't going to be heard tonight. He stepped back, surprised to find Storm's hand on his biceps.  
  
Storm was Summers's friend. Jean's, too. Logan hadn't expected her support earlier, and he was surprised again when she spoke up, an edge in her tone.  
  
"Logan is right about the landing place, too."  
  
Summers's hand lifted from the map, and his fingers traced the path Logan had drawn. He nodded once, his eyes never leaving the paper. "Yeah. OK. We land there and we'll call back."  
  
"I'll check Cerebro, see if I can pick anyone up in the area," Xavier said, his hand already on the control of his chair. "Of course I wouldn't hold out hope."  
  
Summers nodded. He scanned the map once more, then stood. "Have Hank meet me at the bird."   
  
Xavier nodded, and Summers strode past without a second glance, probably off to get into his suit. "Storm, would you mind staying here to make certain Hank is up to speed on everything when he returns with Marie?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
"Logan, would you accompany me to Cerebro?"  
  
Logan shrugged and followed Xavier into the hall. He wouldn't be any help with Cerebro, of course; in truth, the thing kind of freaked him out. It seemed an awfully big risk to be taking, holding the lives of so many people in your mind.  
  
"Anything can be dangerous without discipline," Xavier said, turning his chair toward the elevator.   
  
Logan snorted. "Too much discipline can be just as bad, you ask me."  
  
Xavier nodded, and his lips thinned into a line. They entered the elevator, Xavier backing in, and he stared straight ahead. "Scott has many things on his mind at the moment," he said, and Logan frowned. Of course, the professor would try and apologize for his golden boy. "He's very – " Xavier paused, and Logan filled in the blank.  
  
"Angry," he supplied.  
  
"Well, yes, some of that, too. But I was thinking, he's very mixed up at the moment." The doors to the elevator opened, and they started down the hall. Logan usually liked being in the basement, removed completely from the thousand tiny noises that the kids in the upper floors sent echoing across the marble and hard wood. Tonight, though, he felt uneasy, too keyed up to be in such an obviously artificial place. The steel beams felt like a cage.  
  
Xavier paused at the entrance to Cerebro but didn't venture forward. Instead, he turned to Logan. "With Cerebro, I can theoretically find the location of any mutant – or any human, should I choose – on the planet. I can reach out with my mind and touch theirs, and, so long as I maintain my discipline, they'll never know it." His eyes had the shimmery intensity that always accompanied his most impassioned speeches. "Tonight, I'll be looking for the signatures of mutants surrounding Magneto. We have a fair idea of who he spends his days with, but our reports are never completely perfect, as you well know." Logan grunted. "So I will have to cast about a bit, test minds that perhaps have nothing to do with Magneto's associates."  
  
Xavier turned and looked into the lock. The electronic voice welcomed him, and Logan knew he was meant to follow.  
  
The lights flickered on inside, and Logan felt the same mix of wonder and annoyance that he did every time he was brought inside. Cerebro was a tight metal drum. Nothing in there he could do but stand and listen. Tonight, he had a feeling that was exactly what the professor had in mind.  
  
"Now normally, to peek into another's mind I would ask permission," Xavier said, rolling to the end of the walkway. He put his hands on the helmet but didn't lift it, turning instead to face Logan. "I would seek for broadcasted thoughts, for things that are being expressed not only psychically but physically. But sometimes, Logan, it is necessary to enter another person's mind without their permission, to extract a piece of information they may not even know they possess, or something so mundane that they're barely conscious of it. For instance, a location."  
  
Logan nodded. He'd heard this all before. Xavier seemed as proud of Cerebro as parent might be of a new sports car: he loved it even as he knew that using it to its full potential might bring harm to others.  
  
"What I'm saying is, Logan, if these people knew – if someone told them that in a hidden school in New York, a man had the ability to read their thoughts, to observe them, well, even though I have done nothing to disturb their lives, even though I will never act upon most of the knowledge that I brush past, I think these people would feel they had been wronged. That they had been violated."  
  
"But it's not like you're trying to find out their secrets," Logan said, shrugging.  
  
"Ah, yes, but in this, I don't know that intent really matters." Xavier turned back to the module and put the helmet on. The lights dimmed, but Logan knew this was still just the warm up for the machine. "It's something for you to think about."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
Xavier's hands were busy on the controls. "You believe that Scott is avoiding you because he's offended that your simulations turned sexual, if I'm correct." Logan nodded, grateful that he didn't have to vocalize his yes. "Yet I don't think it's the idea of the sex that's bothering him, or at least, I don't believe it's that alone. You unintentionally stumbled across a vast well of information about Scott, things that, given your history together, he most likely wouldn't have volunteered to you. In short, though I'm not sure he'd be able to articulate it as such now, I believe he feels you violated his privacy."  
  
Logan scowled at that. "That wasn't my fault. I didn't know I was spying on him – I thought it  _was_  him."  
  
"Yes, but again, Logan, sometimes it's not the intent that matters." The vast world map appeared before them, and Xavier made a final adjustment on the module. "Sometimes, it's the results that matter most. You of all people should understand that."  
  
He did, of course. Logan was a results-oriented fighter. The ends justified just about anything in his book. Working backward from that, and from what Xavier had been saying, Logan could understand how Summers might be feeling a little uncomfortable. After all, if nothing in the Danger Room had been real, this Summers had no reason to know that Logan wouldn't use the information he'd gained from the simulation against him.  
  
And he had gained quite a lot of background on Summers. He knew more of his story now, about how he'd come to meet Xavier and live at the mansion, about his childhood and coming in to his powers. Xavier was right; that wasn't exactly stuff that Summers would have told Logan on his own, at least not in the world where they were still rivals.  
  
Which was, of course, the world in which he lived, the world in which Summers wouldn't talk to him or meet his eyes or even follow an order to go on a mission with him. The world in which he lived, Logan thought not for the first time, sucked.  
  
"You just need to give him some time," Xavier said, even as the colors flashed and zoomed on screen, drawing up the images of a few mutants that Logan recognized. Standard Magneto accompanists. "Scott is an extremely rational person. With time, I have no doubt he'll come to realize that you, as much as he, have been a victim of a rather cruel set of circumstances."  
  
Cruel and unusual, Logan thought, but he said only, "I'll keep it in mind."  
  


* * *

  
  
Summers and Hank returned around sunrise, waking about half of the school, from Logan's estimate. No alarms or immediate mind-calls from the professor came through, so Logan assumed they'd come back unharmed and probably without captives. Neither man was at breakfast, but Logan caught Storm as they both passed through the kitchen door.  
  
Kids were milling around in the dining room, talking and sharing homework. Logan could think of three kids off the top of his head who could hear their every word without moving an inch closer. "Was it who we think?"  
  
Storm nodded. Her eyes flicked out toward the kids, as well.  
  
"They bring anyone back?"  
  
She shook her head, and Logan frowned, disappointed. All this commotion and not even a capture. "The authorities were already there when they arrived."  
  
That was something, at least. Logan didn't much care for the way the human prison system treated mutant offenders, but one more of Magneto's goons in prison was one less jerk Logan was likely to face in battle.  
  
Storm looked around again. Logan read something on her face like regret, and his stomach tightened. "Did they – they're both back OK, right?"  
  
"Scott is fine," she said, and something loosened in Logan's chest, a tension of which he hadn't been aware. "Hank had a few scratches."  
  
He could guess how much of an understatement that was. Hank had no healing factor, but he was damned tough. Scratches on him could be anything from bullet grazes to stab wounds.  
  
"Anything we should be doing?"  
  
"No," she said. "The trail is cold again." She touched his arm. "Next time."  
  
"Sure." Storm nodded. She turned to go into the dining room, and Logan made his way out, dodging a few kids in the hallway who wanted to chat about their upcoming survival exam.  
  
He stood in the entryway and wondered what he should be doing. Usually, the day after a mission gone wrong – even slightly wrong – he'd find Summers in the Danger Room, ready to beat the shit out of whatever monster the machine would throw at them. The guy was too hard on himself. Of course, now, Logan couldn't imagine that he'd see Summers – the real Summers – anywhere near the Danger Room ever again. He was probably in the infirmary, reliving the whole mess with Hank and maybe taking some comfort in Jean – though, based on the looks from the night before, Logan had to wonder if there was still something pretty wrong there, too.  
  
He got his answer to that one that afternoon. Jean showed up in his self-defense class and offered to help him spot kids on the wall.  
  
Logan lifted an eyebrow as he climbed down from his final test of the wall. "Thought you were pissed at me."  
  
"I am," she said with a shrug. "But it's exam day. And I figured we should talk."  
  
Logan grunted. Talking with Jean about his fake affair with her boyfriend – fiancé – wasn't high on Logan's list of things to do. But he was happy for her help with the class, and he was pretty sure that Jean could be counted on not to make a scene in front of the kids. He nodded, once, and walked past her to where the teenagers were clustered, dropping their books onto the grass.  
  
"All right, alphabetical order, OK? Line yourselves up behind here," he said, making sure everyone was behind the tall hedge. One of the younger kids had a talent for making things grow, and Logan had enlisted his help that morning to build a nice, seven-foot hedge. "No one gets to watch the climbing except the kid who's on the wall. Now, the usual rules: no powers unless you can't avoid them. No helping the other kids. You think you're gonna fall or you start feeling sick, you shout for me." They all nodded. "Great. Andrews, let's go."  
  
A skinny kid with a mop of curly hair took a deep breath, then stalked forward toward the wall. His power was mostly verbal, so Logan didn't have to watch him too closely for signs of cheating, just for the usual. He reached up for the blue rock, the obvious starter, and began to climb.  
  
 _How long?_  
  
Jean's voice in Logan's head was sharp and steady. He glanced at her, but her face remained impassive, her eyes tracking the kid on the wall. Well, this was one way to keep from making a scene.  
  
Telepathic conversation required a little concentration, if you weren't naturally psychic. The professor had told him to think of his mind as a room divided by a chalkboard. Everything behind the board – his memories and thoughts – would take effort for a telepath to find, but if Logan chose to put words on the chalkboard – to broadcast – then a conversation could easily go both ways.  
  
 _Coupla months_ , he projected.  
  
Jean let out a slow breath.  _And Scott – enjoyed it?_  
  
Logan's hands curled into fists.  _You think I attacked him, is that it?_  
  
 _I don't know what to think, Logan_. On the wall ahead of them, Andrews had chosen a false rock, one Logan had switched out over the course of the morning. His hand slipped, and for a moment, Logan was sure he was about to cry out or crash down. But he found a reserve of strength and lowered himself back to the last steady footing.  
  
 _He started it, so I think he liked it just fine_ , Logan thought, then shook his head. Why was he taking this seriously? _Look, it wasn't even real._  
  
 _It was real to you. It still is, a little, isn't it?_  Jean's voice had a note of smug bitterness in it. Logan looked away.  
  
Andrews had reached the midway point and was resting, briefly, drawn up tight to the wall, secure. Logan walked around the hedge and tapped the next kid, a brilliantly blond girl whose name he could never quite remember. Her power was, of course, the ability to be anonymous.  _Beatrice_ , Jean offered.  
  
"Get up there, Bea." Logan clapped the girl on the shoulder and led her around the hedge. Andrews had resumed his climb. "And remember – no helping each other out."  
  
She nodded and crept up to the wall, studying it from the ground. Good approach, Logan thought, noting that she chose against the starting point in the center that Andrews had picked.  
  
 _You get why I'm mad, right?_  
  
Logan shrugged. He could think of a hundred reasons.  
  
Jean pressed on.  _It was real to you. You were having an affair with my fiancé._  
  
Not much he could say to that. Yeah, he'd felt bad about it, but mostly, he'd figured it was Summers doing the cheating. They'd never really talked about it. Once, Summers had said, "I've never said anything to Jean," but Logan had read the end of the sentence. Jean could know without being told, and he'd figured that was the kind of suspended animation that their relationship lived in inside her head.  
  
 _I kind of figured you knew_ , he answered.  _I mean, you're psychic._  
  
 _So you thought, what, I was sharing him with you?_  
  
Logan flinched. Her tone was thick with disbelief and disgust. He walked to the other side of the clearing, still looking up at the rock wall. Of course, distance wouldn't make her voice any less loud in his head, but it would reduce the chance that he'd hit her with his claws.  
  
 _You don't even like him._  
  
On the wall, Beatrice had found a trick rock of her own, but she was using it to help swing her toward a larger stone cluster. Logan kept his eyes trained on her, the strength and confidence of her movements.  
  
 _You fought all the time._  
  
 _We fought over you_ , Logan shot back, eyes riveted to the rock wall.  
  
 _And what about that, Logan? What made you switch sides?_  
  
 _I don't have a side._  He saw her start, slightly, and was glad for it.  _Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn't you be making up with Summers?_  
  
 _Shouldn't you?_  
  
He ignored the barb. </i>Seems to me, you two been on the outs. He can't get over it, that you didn't believe him, huh? I'm a little surprised, myself</i>. Jean said nothing.  _Your own fiancé, and you took my word over his. You thought it was just as possible as I did._  
  
 _Stop it._  
  
But Logan had her, now. He turned to face her, still talking in his head, angry, ready to push her as hard as she was pushing him.  _He trusted you and you let him down. And he doesn't trust easy. How're you gonna get that back, huh? How're you –_  
  
Jean's hand flashed out to the side, and Logan felt a crackle of raw power. He closed his eyes and thought, behind the chalkboard, This is it. If anyone had the power to do him in, surely it was Jean, the Jean from the plane, the Jean from Alkali Lake. An invisible vise closed around his neck.  _Do it_ , he shot at her, daring her, not even popping his claws.  
  
His heartbeat pounded in his temples, and Jean's voice was behind it, whispering,  _You have no idea, you have no –_  
  
Logan heard a startled yelp, and suddenly the grip was gone. He could breathe. He opened his eyes just in time to see Beatrice tumbling backwards, arms outstretched, feet in a tangle. His legs burned but obeyed, and he managed to leap forward and catch her at the last possible moment, the force of the impact driving him to his knees. "You OK, kid?" he asked, panting, his voice raw.  
  
Beatrice nodded. Her eyes were wide and focused over his shoulder, and Logan looked up. Jean was on her knees, too, her hands folded against her chest, her head down, sobbing. Logan looked back to the girl, then up at Andrews, who had just managed the top. "All right," he said, setting her on her feet. "Andrews, come on down. Bea, go tell the others, we'll resume this tomorrow, OK? Just tell 'em, everyone back to the mansion."  
  
She nodded, looking frightened, and ran off behind the hedge. Logan stayed at the wall, waiting for Andrews to clamber down the ladder on the side. He hit the ground too hard, and Logan held out a hand to help him up. "You did good, kid," Logan said as he hit his feet. "Take the day off tomorrow, all right?"  
  
He nodded and glanced at Jean. "Everything's fine," Logan said. "Get goin', all right?"   
  
Andrews fled as told. Logan leaned back against the side of the rock wall and took a few deep breaths. The Jean on the ground before him was no more than the usual Jean Grey, not the superpower he'd just tasted in his head. Jean was his friend; he owed her his help, even if she didn't want it. He kept his steps slow and light, eventually easing into the grass beside her. "C'mon," he said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder.  
  
She turned to him, her face a mess of dark, running make-up and tears. "I don't know what happened," she said, pressing one hand to her forehead. "Oh, God, Logan, I'm so sorry."  
  
He shrugged. "I pushed you." She started to argue, but he shook his head. "Hey, I heal quick. And I caught the girl. All right?"  
  
She paused, then nodded and let him help her to her feet. She brushed the dirt from her shirt and sniffled. "Those kids must think I'm insane."  
  
"Nah," he said, reaching up and wiping his thumb over her damp cheek. "Marie says they think we're having an affair."  
  
Jean snorted and laughed, then wiped her eyes on the backs of her hands. "I never thought I'd wish that that was the problem." She stepped back and away from him, and looked up at him. Her eyes held pain, but not the vicious anger of the day before.   
  
Logan sighed. "Look, it wasn't like what you're thinking. I never wanted to hurt you. That sounds stupid, maybe, but – it wasn't something like that."  
  
"What was it like, then?" Her voice was curious, not accusing, and so Logan nodded. He owed her this.  
  
"It was – comfortable," he said, shrugging, searching for the word. "We got along."  
  
"You were friends," she said, surprised.  
  
Logan nodded, then added, uncomfortably, "And more."  
  
Jean nodded again, but her voice was unsteady when she spoke. "You miss him."  
  
"Nah," Logan said, though something had chimed  _yes, God, yes_  in his head and chest when she'd said it. He wondered if she'd heard, because she fixed him with a look of disbelief. "I thought we were getting along better, and now – it was just made up, that's kind of weird. Back to where we started."  
  
Jean nodded. She rested her hand on his forearm, but her eyes stayed on the ground at their feet. "I am sorry, Logan," she said. "About before. I've – since we came back from the lake –"  
  
"You've had some trouble with your powers," he said, and Jean looked up.  
  
"How could you –"  
  
"Hey, you don't have to be a telepath to tell when someone's got a problem," he said.  
  
Jean smiled, a real smile. "Yeah. I guess it's – it's probably kind of obvious, huh?"  
  
Logan shrugged. He didn't want to let on his own fears about Jean's growing power. "Only if you're looking hard," he said.  
  
Jean turned, her fingers trailing off of his arm and back to her own side. They walked around the hedge and started back to the mansion, and Logan thought maybe they were done, all talked out. He was glad for it. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and cut the end with one claw, then paused to light it. Jean stood before him, fidgeting with her jacket as he took the first puff.  
  
"It's like being a teenager again," she said as they started to walk again. Logan raised an eyebrow and took another puff on the cigar. "With my power, like this. My control isn't what it should be, not at all what it used to be. I try to read someone's mind and I get the whole thing instead of a clip; I tried to call my hairbrush over the other night and the entire medicine chest ripped off the wall." She laughed, a light, high, nervous laugh. "And I can't predict it. One minute, everything's the same as always, the next –"  
  
"You're super-charged," Logan said, and Jean nodded. "You talked to the professor about all this?"  
  
"Yes," she said. She stopped on the edge of the basketball courts. Two boys were passing a ball around on the opposite end. Logan stayed on the grass; he never felt completely secure standing on the court, knowing that the plane was just beneath them. "He says it will pass, and he can help me master it all, and that maybe it's just going to be like this for me. That I'll never completely grow into my powers like everyone else, they'll keep... growing."  
  
Standing there, for a moment, Logan saw the teen that Jean Grey had probably once been: tentative, hesitant, powerful but unwilling to be so. The thread of vulnerability that ran under Jean's competence, her masterful public persona and scientific study, had its roots right here. He put his cigar out, then dropped his hands onto her shoulders, steadying her.  
  
"Hey, look at me." She looked up. Her eyes were red, but whether from the earlier crying or new emotion, he couldn't tell. "No one ever gets used to it, right? And most of us don't have half the power you've got."  
  
"That's not –"  
  
"Hey!"  
  
The sharp bark of Summers's voice across the court brought both Logan's and Jean's heads up sharply. She turned, and Logan dropped his hands. As Summers crossed to them, the game at the other end of the court abruptly stopped, and the two kids started to stare. Logan gave them a glare and they scattered.  
  
"Scott," Jean said, her voice still heavy and tearful.  
  
"Jean." Logan recognized his team-leader voice immediately. "The professor is looking for you."  
  
Jean flinched and glanced at Logan. He could guess what that would be about. Xavier was hypersensitive to major displays of power on the grounds, and Jean had just gone thermonuclear in front of the kids.  _I won't say anything_ , Logan promised her, and she nodded and stepped away. She paused for a moment, looking at Summers, but he faced forward, no acknowledgement in his features, and she turned away and headed for the mansion.  
  
Summers stayed frozen as she walked away, and Logan wondered if maybe he should just try to make a similar exit. He bent and picked up his cigar from the ground, and when he stood, Summers was facing him.   
  
"You pondering where to hide my body?" Logan asked, rolling the cigar between his hands just for something to do.  
  
"Just how to get it to the lake without anyone noticing."  
  
Logan nodded. "Telekinesis would come in handy."  
  
Summers's eyes seemed to focus right on Logan's, then. "I'm not sure she'd go along with it."  
  
"Oh, you'd be surprised." Logan scuffed the edge of the court with his foot. He heard the door to the mansion open and close. If this was the chance he was going to get, he might as well dive right in. "Look, I should say – I'm sorry. About messing things up with you and Jean. I –"  
  
"Shut up, Logan." Summers's mouth drew into a straight line, and his eyes seemed to travel to the right. He went quiet again, and Logan shifted his weight. He studied a few fine cracks in the tarred surface of the basketball court and wondered if that was something easily remedied. Finally, Summers spoke, his voice low. "I've been giving this some thought, and – it's not really your fault."   
  
Logan grunted, accepting the apology. A nervous smile fluttered over Summers's face. "Christ, I don't know what to do from here. How to act around you."  
  
Logan shrugged. "Just like normal, I guess. Only –" he paused, then decided to hand Summers the ammo anyway. "Only maybe with less ball-busting than usual, all right?" Summers nodded slowly. "Turns out you aren't such a dick after all."  
  
"Well, thanks for that."  
  
Another group of kids edged toward the basketball court and started to toss a ball back and forth. They seemed to be paying Logan and Summers no mind. "So, did the professor send you out here to say all that?"  
  
Summers shook his head and rubbed his jaw. "No, actually, he said that Jean may have just tried to attack you."  
  
There was a question in his words. Logan shrugged. "She didn't mean it."  
  
"Jesus."  
  
"She says her power's been unpredictable since we got back from Alkali Lake."  
  
"That's one way of putting it." Summers frowned. Logan could sense he had more to say, but this was, again, the real world, not the Danger Room. This Summers didn't just start talking. "Anyway. You're OK?" Logan nodded. "Great." He turned sharply and took a few steps, then turned back. "I mean, ah, it's good. That you're OK."  
  
Logan smirked. "One step at a time, there, Summers. Don't want you to strain anything trying to be nice."  
  
Summers gave Logan a quick, cheeky salute before he turned around again. Logan watched him go and smiled a little to himself. Well, this was progress.


	4. Chapter 4

This time, Logan wasn't on call. "Hey, down to the situation room," Summers said, having woken Logan with a sharp knock on the door.  
  
Logan grunted and grabbed his jeans. Summers stayed in the doorway. "So what's going on?"  
  
"The usual. Magneto."  
  
"Lemme guess: Death, mayhem, destruction?" Summers nodded as Logan turned around. He looked a little flushed. Logan pulled a white undershirt from his chair and slid it on. "All right, let's go. You on duty tonight?"  
  
Summers nodded and licked his lips. He didn't move from the doorway, even as Logan stepped closer. "Hey –"  
  
Before he could get the word out, Summers was on him, pushing him to the bed, his mouth hard and hot on Logan's. Logan fell backwards, surprised but quickly pleased. Summers pulled Logan's shirt off and pressed him down, and Logan grinned. He cupped the front of Summers's pants. "This is more than friendly," he said as Summers worked on the fly of Logan's jeans.  
  
Summers laughed and unzipped him, then took Logan in his mouth. Logan shivered. God, yes, he'd missed this. Wanted this. Wanted Summers. "So good," he muttered, his hands in Summers's hair. "So fucking good."  
  
Summers pulled back and wiped his mouth, but before Logan could protest, he started pulling off his own clothes. A sweaty moment later, Summers was back on top of him, this time his hand working below, his mouth on Logan's neck, urging Logan to turn on his belly. And he did it, rolled over and pushed up, hands and knees, and he growled when Summers entered him, everything happening so fucking  _fast_  and all at once, and then, without even a hand on him, Logan came.  
  
And woke up.  
  
The sheets were tangled and a little sticky around him, and the room was still dark. He was shaking, heart still thudding from the dream. Dream? Nightmare? No. No, nothing so ordinary. Logan pressed his hands to his face. Fuck. Fucking Summers.  
  
He crawled out of bed and over to the bathroom, turned the shower up to a full blast of hot. The heat hurt, turned his skin briefly red and white with its force, but he withstood it, let his mind focus on the pain. Better that than the dream.  
  
Logan didn't bother to dry his hair or much of himself. He sat on the bed in his shorts, listening to the mansion creak and hum around him. This was unacceptable. He had to get his head on straight.  
  
He heard a knock on the door and felt a surge of fear. Summers? "Yeah?" he rasped out.  
  
It was Bobby. His voice was tentative, and Logan had to wonder if the kid would ever really make it on the team if he couldn't seem to get over his kid-brother fear of Logan. Though really, Bobby – Iceman, in battle – had never let them down. "Situation room," Bobby said when Logan answered the door.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He took a moment to pull on his jeans and what would pass for a clean T-shirt to anyone without enhanced olfactory senses. Bare feet, though, because what could happen? He'd step on a nail?  
  
The whole team was assembled, which was never a good sign. Everyone was still in their nightclothes, except the professor, who Logan had begun to suspect slept in gray pants and a perfectly ironed oxford shirt, and Hank McCoy, who also wore a suit. He still smelled like an airliner, and Logan realized he'd probably only just flown back from his scheduled trip to Washington.  
  
Jean was sitting next to the professor, wearing sweatpants and a red tank top, her hair pulled back and her face pale under the lights. Summers, in shorts and a black T-shirt, leaned over the table, studying a blown-up photograph with Hank next to him. Logan kept his eyes off him, glad that everyone was too busy to notice the flare of raw want that had tumbled through his stomach and mind at the very sight of Summers. Christ, he'd had his hands on those shoulders, in that hair, less than an hour ago.  
  
Logan lurked near the door, next to Storm. He smelled lavender on her black silk pajamas, and wondered what she'd been doing before the call came through. Bubble bath, he thought, taking another whiff. Good for her. Someone in this place ought to be having a relaxing evening.  
  
"Excellent, Logan, you're here. All right," the professor said, diving in with the explanation. Hank's contacts in the government had alerted him to the presence of a rather powerful mutant, an adolescent, being held in "protective custody" in an Alcatraz Island compound – the prison, rebuilt – by Worthington Industries in California. The boy, whom they called Leech, had the power to temporarily take away other mutants' powers. Government and private scientists had been working in tandem, testing the boy's blood and DNA, trying to create a "mutant vaccine."   
  
"So far, they have been unsuccessful, though some recent testing has resulted in brief but total loss of powers for those mutants upon whom the vaccine was tested," Hank said. "It suppresses the mutant 'X' gene."  
  
"The boy is our first concern," Xavier said. "According to Hank's sources, without him, the research would have nowhere to go. They're essentially using him to prop up the entire laboratory."  
  
"Why hasn't anyone heard about this until now?" Summers asked, scanning the prison map again.  
  
"If the media got wind of the fact that they're holding a child –" Jean said, but Xavier shook his head.  
  
"This is all highly classified. There's high level military involvement."  
  
Logan flexed his fingers, feeling a wave of anger rising in his chest. "So they're planning to weaponize the stuff?"  
  
"It does seem probable," Hank said. "I believe, from the information my friend was able to pass along, that our time frame is very limited. They may be able to synthesize a vaccination within the next very short while."  
  
"Beyond that, I believe that Magneto is aware of this very same threat," Xavier said grimly. "If my suspicions are correct, this is related to his recent activities. I believe he's building an army, preparing for the moment when the announcement of the mutant vaccination is made.  
  
"And so I think our mission is clear," Xavier continued, looking up and around the table. "We should find this mutant boy, Leech, and bring him here. Cyclops, Storm, Jean -"  
  
"No." Summers's voice rang against the concrete walls. Not a shout, not by any means, but commanding none-the-less. "I'll take Storm and Wolverine."   
  
Logan's eyes went first to Jean, who had looked up from the table in blind, almost panicky shock. It shouldn't have surprised Logan, because Summers was a good leader, but he drew in the same breath of surprise as everyone else. Summers tipped his head slightly toward Jean and didn't look away. His voice stayed deep, but it lost some of its coldness. "Jean, you can take in-house for Storm."  
  
"Scott, I can -"  
  
"Not right now," he said, more gently, holding up one hand. "It's a risk I won't take."  
  
Xavier stepped in. "Actually, that may be a better plan. Wolverine, your healing factor will be effected by Leech's presence, but not your combat capabilities. And Storm, you'll need to provide some cover."  
  
Jean looked down at the report on the table, slid her glasses on. Xavier went on about the kid's powers, but Logan wasn't listening. He kept his eyes on Jean. Logan had seen Jean – this new power and rage within her – close up. He noticed that Summers was still on edge, too, and realized that he was probably just as familiar – which made his decision all the more daring.  
  
"Storm, you should try and keep the boy with you," Jean said, looking up. Her face was slightly flushed, and her hands were unsteady, but Logan relaxed. Embarrassed, he thought, not enraged. "His range, according to these reports, is only within a few feet. Logan will lose his healing factor, and Scott -"  
  
"I may be blind," he said, nodding curtly. "In which case, Storm, you'll have to pilot us back."  
  
Summers outlined his plan – a quiet landing on the water, and an even quieter entrance through the security doors on the side. Immobilizing the guards and generally providing cover would be up to Logan and Summers; they would get Storm in, she would grab the boy, and then they'd whisk him back to the ship.  
  
"We should go now," Summers said, lifting his fingers from the table. "Less personnel at night, less likelihood they'll be able to call for reinforcements."  
  
"Agreed," Xavier said. "We'll wait for a radio signal."  
  
Plan agreed upon, they broke away from the table. Logan followed Summers across the hall, and he pulled a uniform from the closet. "About Jean," he started, but Summers shook his head.  
  
"It wasn't personal," he said. He put one hand against his glasses to steady them, then pulled his shirt up over his head, twisting carefully, a practiced move. Logan had never seem him undress from anything other than a button-down shirt or his uniform before. He tried not to think about the last time he'd seen Summers – the false Summers, the dream Summers – without his clothes on. "Jean's power is too unpredictable right now," Summers continued.  
  
Logan stripped off his shirt and pants, glad he was wearing something under them. The uniforms were decent for protection in a fight, but they chafed like a bitch if he didn't wear shorts. "Yeah, but you picked me over your fiancée," Logan said. "With everything that's going on –"  
  
"She's not my fiancée," Summers said. His voice was quiet but steady, his hands smoothly working on the zipper of the uniform as it hung before him. Logan paused with one leg in his uniform, then shook his head and slowly drew it on up to the waist.  
  
"I'm – sorry," he said. The words were inadequate. Whichever Summers this was, Logan hadn't ever wanted that. He remembered Summers at Alkali Lake, the way he'd folded Jean close to his body and whispered to her. He loved her. "If this is because of the simulation thing –"  
  
"No," Summers said, a little too quickly. He took his uniform off the hanger and turned it around, held it in front of him while he spoke. "Things have been pretty fucked up for a while."  
  
Logan grunted. He could grant that premise.  
  
Storm walked in, already in uniform, pulling her hair back. Summers had sat down to pull his on, and Logan was glad of something else to focus on beyond the pale spindles of his spine. "Can you fight if you aren't healing?" Storm asked, leaning against the wall.  
  
Logan shrugged. He popped the claws in his right hand, felt the familiar, cool bite of pain as the metal slid out. "You gotta throw the kid to someone, better me than him," he said, tipping his head toward Summers.  
  
"I  _may_  be blind," Summers said as Logan pulled his claws back. "It may not effect my vision, just the optic blasts."  
  
He stood and zipped the uniform, then switched out his night goggles for his combat visor. The brief flash of his uncovered face was somehow unsettling. "All set?"  
  
"Ready," Storm agreed.  
  
"Let's go." Logan followed him into the hall. The door was still open to the briefing room, and he watched Summers nod to Xavier before turning down the hall. Logan looked at Jean, who met his eyes with an even, sad stare.  _Take care of them_ , she asked, her voice fluid and normal in his head.  
  
He nodded once, then followed his team down the hall.  
  


* * *

  
  
Sometimes, it was good to be part of a team this slick and practiced. They spent two-thirds of their time banging their heads against the Magneto problem, training like mad for a face-off with the Super Mutant Villain of the World, so that when it came to a good old-fashioned face off with human security forces, it was a cakewalk. Not a single sensor twitched as they landed, and they wore the cloak of Storm's fog as they scaled the hillside. A sudden thunderstorm of hers had reduced the power to the facility, which meant more security personnel on hand but fewer operating cameras. Logan hit the guys at the door hard, but only so hard that they'd have a story in the morning. The locks burned easily under Summers's glare and turned just as smoothly with encouragement from Logan's claws. Summers led them through the white halls, and the only sounds were their breath and the whisper of leather as Summers gestured positions at every corner.  
  
They found the boy asleep in an all-white room just off the laboratory main. Logan wanted to test his range by popping the claws, but Storm held him back. "Don't scare him," she said, advancing out of the shadows.   
  
Summers brushed past her. Four feet from the bed he stopped, hand on his visor. He took another careful step, then adjusted the visor. "Stand back," he said in a very low voice, and he turned toward a small desk in the corner. Logan heard the click of the visor opening, but nothing came out. Summers shook his head in amazement and closed the visor again. "It's all right," he said. "I can see, I've just got no blasts."  
  
The boy woke at the sound of his voice and immediately curled up. "Hey, it's OK," Summers said in his school voice, the voice Logan had overheard in the gardens and the garage, when he was trying to comfort a newcomer. "We're here to help you."  
  
"You're mutants?" he asked.  
  
Summers nodded. Storm stepped up next to him. "We've come to take you someplace safe," she said. "Where there won't be any more tests."  
  
"You should stay away from me," the kid – Leech – said, moving further back on his bed.  
  
"It's OK," Summers said. "We know all about your power. It's fine." He held out one gloved hand, and after a moment, the kid took it.  
  
Logan heard heavy footsteps in the hall. "Cyclops," he growled, and Summers nodded, though he didn't look away from the boy. Storm stepped up and took Leech by the arm, a firm but kind grip, and led him back into a corner of the room. As they walked away, Logan watched Summers raise a hand to his forehead, then shake his head. He turned to Logan. "How many?"  
  
"Maybe four," he said, listening again. Heavy, booted steps, with the clinking of belts and, perhaps, handcuffs. Security stiffs. Logan grinned. "You back in the game?"  
  
Summers nodded. He adjusted his visor again and stood on the right side of the door. "When you say," he muttered, looking at the door handle.  
  
Logan leaned his head against the wall. He waited until he heard the pause that meant a turn, then said, "Now!"  
  
Summers burned the door handle and the hinges in four neat shots, and the door fell outward. They were on the three remaining guards in a second, and all three fell to the ground without the use of claws or blasts. Standing over them, Logan couldn't help throwing a grin at Summers, who gave a cocky nod in return. "Let's go. Should get the plane out of here before they get power again."  
  
Summers took the lead again, and Storm stayed a few feet behind him. Logan brought up the rear. He was probably within range of the kid's power, but he figured if something hit him, Storm would have the sense to run like hell and take Leech with her. No sweat.  
  
"This is almost anticlimactic," Summers muttered as they walked back down the final, long hallway.   
  
Logan grunted. Easy was never a good sign on a mission like this. He tensed as they approached the outer door, hearing the scuffle of feet just beyond. "Hold up," he said, and Storm fell back with the kid.  
  
"Three," he said, signaling that two were to the left, one to the right. Summers nodded and pressed his back to the wall on the right side of the door, Logan on the left. The door would open and they'd fall on them, easy.  
  
"There's four more back there," Storm said, rushing up with the boy in tow.  
  
Summers shook his head and pressed the base of his palm against his temple. Logan knew without looking that he'd just lost his optic blasts. He crouched a bit tighter, saw Summers doing the same. Summers was pretty solid in hand-to-hand, but Logan was already adjusting his plan, upping the urgency. He'd need to take out the first guy fast, make sure Summers didn't get two on top of him. They needed to get through quick; four guys was no problem with Summers running at full power, but if they had to keep the kid close, well, Logan didn't like those odds.  
  
The doorknob twitched, and Logan whirled and gave it a heavy kick. He was through the door before he'd had time to think, and the first guy went down under the force of the impact. The ground outside was damp and slick, but the storm had cleared completely. Logan planted his feet in the mud and landed a blow directly in the second guy's stomach, but he was fast and managed to jam a knee up against Logan's chest that sent him stumbling back into the wall. He saw Summers grappling with the third guy, ducking one blow and then delivering his own, a neat, solid martial-arts type move. Logan turned back just in time to see a fist coming his way, and he dodged, turned, and connected with the guy's face, hard. Warm blood dribbled thickly over his fingers even as a cold, shattering pain shot up his arm. He drew his hand back, staring at it dumbly even as the security guard stumbled back to his knees. Summers brought an elbow down hard near the guy's neck and he pitched forward, stunned or unconscious. "Let's go," he said, turning already for the plane.  
  
Storm and the boy stood just behind Logan, huddled against the wall. They peeled off and followed Summers, and Logan staggered behind them, still clutching his right hand in his left. His fingers wouldn't move; they felt shattered.  
  
He climbed onto the plane and passed Storm strapping the kid into a seat in the back cargo area. Summers took the pilot's seat.  
  
"You're – OK to fly?" he asked.  
  
"The effects have passed," Summers said. "I think his range is pretty limited."  
  
"Let's hope." Even as he said it, Logan could feel his bones re-knitting, his hand firming up. He felt a warm tingle of disbelief as he flexed his fingers.  
  
Summers flipped a switch on the dash and the back bay closed. "What'd you do to your hand?"  
  
"Broke it."  
  
"The claws?" he asked, glancing over.  
  
"Nah, hard punch," Logan said, and Summers smirked. "Hey, you try with it fuckin' adamantium on your bones."  
  
"Think I'll pass." Summers glanced up and back, then said, "Hang on." He flipped a few more switches and they lifted off. Over the roar of the engines, Logan could just pick up the kid's whispered, "Cool!" from the back.  
  
They raced back over the bay and then up into the air, settling in for the flight. Logan loosened his uniform zipper slightly and pressed back into the seat.  
  
"Should've hit the lab," Logan grumbled. "Probably 800 test tubes in there, all of 'em filled with the kid's DNA."  
  
"No, I think Hank's right, they haven't found a vaccine yet. If they had, they'd have better security." Summers flipped a switch, then pulled on a set of headphones. "Professor, it's Cyclops. We're en route. The mission is complete. No sir, no casualties. Well, Logan broke his own hand."  
  
"Hey –" Logan objected, but Summers just grinned. "Sure. Should be in just past dawn. Roger that."  
  
He flipped the switch again, then pushed the headphones back onto his neck with one hand. They'd been climbing since takeoff, but now, with a pleasing blanket of clouds beneath them, they leveled out. Summers tapped another button, and his grip on the steering mechanism loosened. Auto-pilot.  
  
"Everyone OK back there?" he called.  
  
Storm walked up and crouched between their seats. "I think he's pretty shaken up. Do you have need of me before we're home?"  
  
Summers checked a digital radar screen. "Weather looks fine. If anything comes up, I'll call."  
  
She nodded and returned to the back, though Logan heard her open one of the cabinets on her way. He turned to see her carrying a pillow back to the boy.  
  
"Kinda young to be into his powers already, isn't he?"  
  
Summers shrugged. "Jean started around 10. The professor says he started picking up thoughts in grade school."  
  
"Maybe it's a telepath thing? Or a mind power thing?"   
  
"Could be. Physical gifts might depend more upon physical maturity." Summers glanced backwards. Storm and Leech had moved to the far end of the bay, and he was settled on the bench, lying down with the blanket over him. "We've had some kids with strange powers over the years, but I've got to wonder how he'll do at the school."  
  
Logan nodded. "Well, I suppose if Marie made it through, anyone could."  
  
Summers grinned. "She's a great student."  
  
"She's a genius," Logan agreed, sighing. "Smarter than half the world, and she's hung up on that timid Bobby kid."  
  
"Bobby's stronger than he looks. He's getting pretty good at the full-body icing during the Danger Room scenarios."  
  
Logan shifted at the mention of the Danger Room. Summers, too, seemed surprised that he'd even mentioned it. Logan cleared his throat nervously and tugged at the neck of his uniform. Summers kept staring straight ahead.  
  
"Do you still go down there?"  
  
"No," Logan said. "Not since that time when you – well, the fake you – was hurt, when Jean found out."  
  
Summers nodded. Logan didn't miss the look of relief on his face. "Um, about Jean?" he said carefully. Logan nodded. "You should know, ah, Jean – her power is kind of unstable, right now."  
  
Logan nodded slowly. "I kind of picked that up, yeah."  
  
"I mean, dangerously unstable."  
  
"Still not telling me anything I don't know," Logan muttered.  
  
"She may try to kill you."  
  
"She already has."  
  
"Really?" Summers looked over, and Logan nodded once, slowly, definitely. "She must be shielding really well, because the Professor didn't get that."  
  
Logan shrugged. "It was – I don't hold it against her. It's like she's not really our Jean, you know?"  
  
"Yeah, I do." Summers's voice was bitter and weary. "At least it's not just me."  
  
"She tried to kill you, too?" Logan tried it as a throwaway line.  
  
He laughed, a dry, almost angry sound. "No," he said, but his voice was serious. "At least, not quite so neatly."  
  
One of the lights on the dash blinked yellow, and Summers tapped it, then flipped on a tiny screen. He studied a green-gray zigzag of lines for a moment, then made a tiny adjustment to the steering handles.  
  
"She really –"  
  
"Save it, Logan," Summers said.  
  
"Fine with me," he said, holding up his hands. Not tonight, that was fine. They were flying home, mission accomplished, minimal blood shed. It was a good night. Logan pressed back into his seat and decided to just relax and enjoy the ride. They'd be home soon enough.  
  


* * *

  
  
Logan slept late the next day, as was his right. Good missions meant sleeping in and, often, slightly raw steak for breakfast. Logan loved good mission days.  
  
He was still in the shower when he heard the professor's voice in his head, almost like a chime.  _Good morning, Logan_ , he said.  _Please join us in my office, if you would._  
  
Logan didn't bother trying to broadcast a reply. Attendance would be assumed, steak be damned. He pulled on an old pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, then wandered down toward Xavier's office. The warm, greasy smell of frying bacon nearly diverted him at the entrance to the kitchen, but he managed to make it past and into the office.  
  
Summers and Storm were already inside with the professor, all of them drinking tea. Storm looked up and smiled when he entered, as did the professor, but Summers kept studying his teacup.   
  
"Good timing," Xavier said. "Tea?"  
  
Logan declined and paced over to the window, leaning against it. Maybe this was just the rehash of the night before. He could be back out to breakfast in ten, fifteen minutes.  
  
"As you may have heard, things at the mansion did not go as smoothly last night as they did for you at Alcatraz."  
  
Logan shifted against the wall, feeling a tickle of displeasure in the back of his skull. It had been weird, the way no one had been around to meet them the night before, but Hank had been in the hall outside the plane's underground hangar. He'd taken Leech off for observation, and the three of them – Storm, Summers, and Logan – had split up to go to bed. He saw the same flicker of confusion in Storm's eyes.   
  
"What do you mean?" she asked.  
  
"Was there an attack?"  
  
"Not in the way you're thinking, Logan," Xavier said. "We had a difficult time with Jean."  
  
Logan frowned and cut his eyes toward Summers. He was still staring at his teacup, but his mouth had formed into a hard line. "Is she all right?" Storm asked.  
  
"Physically, yes, she's fine. Mentally – psychically, she's going through a very difficult time. Her powers have expanded exponentially since the Alkali Lake outing." Now Xavier's mouth slipped into the same hard line that Summers's had. He wheeled his chair back until he was seated behind his desk. When he spoke again, his voice was grave and professorial. "There are some things I think it's time you all knew about Jean Grey."  
  


* * *

  
  
After the meeting, Logan walked out and stopped in the center of the hallway. The smell of breakfast had long since dissipated. They'd been in with the professor for nearly two hours.  
  
Class Five, Logan thought, then shook his head. Jean Grey, the mild-mannered doctor type, the girl who hadn't quite been able to break apart a missile just before the lake, the woman who'd still stuttered, slightly, when he'd flirted with her – she was a class five, high-powered mutant, like nothing they'd ever seen before. The idea that within Jean there lay a monster – a dual personality, the professor called it – would have been impossible for Logan to accept six months ago.  
  
Now, though, he could remember, could almost still feel the tingle of rage and power in his mind from the day out by the rock-climbing course. He remembered the red flare of Jean's eyes – the Phoenix's eyes – as she'd taken on the rushing waters at Alkali. No, that had been no Jean that he'd known.  
  
The door opened behind him, and Logan started. Storm brushed his shoulder with hers. She had taken the news with a calm wash of puzzlement, asking almost as many questions as Logan. Hers had been the more clinical questions – is the power increase permanent, will the change into Phoenix be inevitable – while Logan's had been more of the screeching, personal type: where is Jean? What is she doing?  
  
It had been Summers who had asked the most difficult question, though. His voice quiet, almost raw, he'd looked up only once and asked, "Is she a threat?"  
  
Xavier had been unable to answer that very well. He'd recounted the story of the night before – how Jean's power had flared almost the moment the plane had taken off, how the sudden psychic spike had shocked the professor and rendered him temporarily unconscious, how she'd simply vanished in front of Hank's eyes after tearing up almost half of the lab. Xavier's best theory – and the one that made the least sense to Logan – was that Jean had gone over to Magneto.  
  
"Are you all right?" Storm asked.  
  
Logan shrugged. "S'pose so. It's a lot to take in, you know?" She nodded. They started to walk, though Logan wasn't sure to where. "The Magneto thing, I don't get."  
  
Storm frowned. "You weren't here during the early days," she said quietly, leading Logan around the corner and into the kitchen. She took an apple from a basket on the counter, and Logan turned to the fridge. He found leftover meatloaf from the night before in a glass cake pan and a half-empty bottle of milk. Good enough. He pulled them out and set them on the counter, offering some to Storm with a wave of his hand. She declined and took a delicate bite of her apple.  
  
"So, what, in the early days, Magneto was a good guy?"  
  
"Actually, yes."  
  
Summers leaned in the doorway. His look of mild disgust made Logan pause until he realized it was a reaction to his choice of breakfast. He grinned. "Meatloaf?" he offered.  
  
"I've eaten," Summers said, settling down next to Storm. She offered him a peach, which he took with a nod, cupping it in both hands.  
  
Logan dug into the meatloaf, ignoring Summers's scandalized look when he didn't even find a plate. He took a drink of milk. "So, Magneto, good guy," he prompted.  
  
"He and Charles founded the school together," Storm said.  
  
"I knew he helped build Cerebro," Logan said. "But I can't quite picture him around the kids."  
  
"Not just any kids," Summers said, his mouth twisted in a smirk. "Jean was one of the first. As was Storm."  
  
"As were you."   
  
Summers tipped his head toward Storm in acknowledgement. "We had Charles for most of our academic classes, but Magneto – we called him Mr. Lensherr – for much of our, ah, extracurricular training."  
  
"So he trained you?"  
  
"That's going too far," Summers said. "He – encouraged us, I guess you could say. Showed us the possibilities that our powers might hold for taking a more aggressive stance."  
  
Logan snorted around a bite of meatloaf. "I bet Xavier wasn't thrilled with that."  
  
Storm nodded. "Magneto left the school within a year of it first being open. By then, things were getting worse, and to continue his lessons seemed only practical – though Professor Xavier put much more emphasis on learning to control and direct our powers than Magneto had."  
  
Logan swallowed and set down the milk bottle. "So Jean – Phoenix, whoever – is freaked out and angry at the world, and she seeks out Magneto, the first guy who encouraged her to go full-tilt with her powers?"  
  
Summers nodded, his face a grim mask. "More or less."  
  
Logan pushed the meat away. "That's a thought to turn a guy's stomach."  
  
They stood in silence for a moment, then Storm tipped her head to one side. "We've seen many difficult battles."  
  
"None like this," Summers murmured, and Logan grunted his assent. He turned to put the meatloaf pan in the sink and heard Storm and Summers peeling away from the counter behind him. Storm called a good night, and Logan waved back over his shoulder as he ran water into the pan. He had guessed that things were pretty bad if Jean – Phoenix – was teaming up with Magneto. The X-Men battling it out with her would be the single worst scenario Logan could think of. Summers would be useless against her, as would Storm; the professor's power was, he'd just told them, of limited use against a psychic of Phoenix's power. Yet it wasn't the possibility of battle that worried him, in part because he believed very strongly in the professor's powers of diplomacy. What made his claws itch was the waiting.  
  
He'd seen the professor's face as he'd made himself talk about Jean as the enemy, Jean as The Phoenix, his eyes haunted and full of regret and, maybe, fear. He'd seen Storm's fingers clench around the end of her chair and heard the tremor in her voice when she'd asked questions. And he'd seen Summers's reaction to everything, noticed the tension in his jaw and the careful adjustments he'd been making to his visor the whole time. Their team – their carefully crafted, do-or-die team – was going to fall apart well before the final battle with Magneto came to be.  
  
Logan drained his milk, then set the glass in the sink. This day already called for something harder than beer. He turned out of the kitchen and started down the hall, toward the closet that had been converted to his "office." Inside the bottom drawer of the rarely-used desk was a good bottle of Kentucky bourbon that Logan could spend most of a day falling in to. Maybe with the weight of that stuff in his mind, he'd be able to clear out the rest of what was bothering him: the final outcomes.  
  
He could see only three possibilities: the first was the victory (in some form or another) of Phoenix and Magneto. Complete annihilation of Xavier's school and his X-Men, probably including Logan. That wasn't even the possibility that made him want to drink. Second, they could find a way to neutralize Phoenix and return Jean to her normal, Jean-like self, welcome her back into the fold, etc. Maybe not ideal for Logan's body's plans for Summers, but otherwise, a very solid option.  
  
The third option was what drove Logan to open his door and slide into the hard wooden desk chair. The third way things could end, in his thoughts, was with the defeat of Magneto and Phoenix. While Magneto could certainly be defeated and imprisoned – they'd done it before, though perhaps not that well – there was no way someone with the powers of Phoenix could ever be put in even the most unconventional prison. No, defeat in that case would mean death – and death at the hands of one of the X-Men.  
  
What made Logan pull out the bottle and drink straight from its mouth was the one fact he couldn't completely escape: in that scenario, there was only one X-Man who could be counted upon to execute that final, necessary maneuver. And that, Logan knew, was him.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, he went back to training in the Danger Room. Without the armband. He pulled Bobby Drake aside and had the kid show him how to program the machine better, so that he got the scenarios he most needed and wanted. Bobby perked up doing work that he was good with, and Logan could see, for once, how this kid might be able to hold his own with Marie.  
  
"Is there any way to get it to duplicate other people on the team?" he asked.  
  
Bobby shrugged. "You mean, like so that you're running the scenario with a partner or something? Sure, I can set it –"  
  
"No," Logan corrected, feeling a shiver of shame at the very idea of a computer-programmed Summers joining him, "is there a way to set it up so I can face off against someone on the team?" Bobby's face fell and his eyes narrowed. Logan shook his head. "I swear to you, I'm not lookin' to use it to develop some killer plan to beat the shit out of Summers, all right?" Bobby nodded, then shrugged again and showed him how to draw on the computer's knowledge of different X-Men.  
  
"What about Jean Gray?" Logan asked, scanning the list of names scrolling down before him.  
  
"Dr. Gray?" Bobby looked up. "So she is gone? Somebody heard –"  
  
"Hey," Logan said, holding up his hand. "Listen to me, kid, you so much as whisper a word of this to anyone and the only mission-related job you're going to get for the next year is making sure everyone gets a cold beer when we come back." Bobby nodded and swallowed hard. Logan hadn't even realized his claws had slid out. "So, yeah, Dr. Gray's gone. That's who I need a program for."  
  
Bobby nodded and poked a few buttons. "It's weird, there's a program split for her. Sometimes she did pretty basic level stuff – telekinesis drills, that kind of thing – but some of these levels are really intense. Major drills."  
  
"Upload those, can you? I'd like to take a look. And show me how to program her in again, using that high-level info, all right?"  
  
It took another hour for Bobby to take Logan back through all of the programming steps, but by the time they broke for dinner, Logan felt like he had it down. He took a sheaf of printouts from Jean's last practice sessions – clearly more Phoenix than Jean – up to dinner to pore over.  
  
"What've you got there?" Hank asked as Logan settled in at the faculty table.  
  
"Read outs from Phoenix's last few proficiency exercises in the Danger Room," Logan grunted, helping himself to mashed potatoes. He glanced around; the room was mostly empty, as most of the kids were off watching a movie in the auditorium that evening. Still, Logan kept his voice low. "Pretty fucking scary stuff, Doc."  
  
"I would imagine," Hank murmured, pulling the top sheet away from Logan's stack. As he scanned it, he let out a low whistle. "Gracious me," he said, one blue finger following the hyperbolic curve of Phoenix's telekinetic accuracy measurements. "She really can do anything, can't she?"  
  
Logan nodded, his mouth full of food. Summers, who'd sat down next to Hank, glanced over at the paper. "Grading at the table, Logan?"  
  
"Sure," Logan said, reaching out to get the paper back from Hank. Hank had already handed the report to Summers, though. Logan took a sip of his water and tried not to study Summers's face.  
  
Summers leaned around Hank and looked down at Logan. "Are these for real?" he asked, and Logan nodded.  
  
"Got Bobby Drake to run them up off the computer in the Danger Room," Logan said, keeping his voice steady. "Got him to show me how to set up a head-to-head combat scenario, too."  
  
"I can't say I'd advise that, based on these readings," Hank said, reviewing a second page. "Good Lord, Logan, she could take any one of us apart. This reading here? She was dematerializing objects – literally blowing things apart with her mind, into such small pieces that they almost became elemental." Hank shuddered. "We ought to show these to Charles."  
  
"I think he already knows," Summers said. "There's not a lot about our training that he doesn't."  
  
Logan bit his lip to keep from reminding Summers that, hey, the professor had missed a few glitches in his training system before. Hank stood and turned to speak with a new student, and Logan shuffled his pages back together. "Might not hurt to let everyone in on these, though," he said.  
  
"Yeah. Faculty meeting tomorrow, maybe then?" Logan agreed. Summers cleared his throat and handed the paper back to Logan. It was impossible to tell if he was really avoiding his gaze or not. "We should run those scenarios soon."  
  
"Together?" Logan's voice was surprisingly steady, even when Summers nodded. "Uh, how about tomorrow afternoon?"  
  
"After the meeting."   
  
Logan paused with his fork in hand. "We oughtta ask Storm to join, maybe," he said, almost reluctantly.  
  
"Let's see what the scenarios are like, first, OK?"  
  
Summers was clearly looking at the table, now, instead of Logan, but Logan nodded anyway. Time alone with Summers, in the Danger Room? He wasn't going to turn that down, though his better sense told him he should. "Yeah, we'll see," Logan agreed.  
  


* * *

  
  
Logan presented the printouts at the meeting the next day. Like Summers had said, the professor didn't seem at all surprised by the high levels of Jean's scenarios. "You knew?" he asked, as the other faculty members cleared the room. Summers had paused at the door.  
  
Xavier shrugged. "Logan, I've been aware of the Phoenix for quite a while. That Jean was able to harness some of that energy in battle scenarios is neither new nor, at the time, did it seem alarming. She had always been able to call up extra reserves of power at times of great distress or need – much like you would experience an adrenaline rush."  
  
"Only about 100 times more likely to be lethal," Summers murmured. "Charles, these readings –"  
  
"Yes," he said shortly. "I know. The best news I can give you is that her power is still very inconsistent. She's not completely in control of it."  
  
"Oh, that's very comforting," Logan grumbled, climbing up out of his chair. "I'll keep that in mind in case I have trouble sleeping tonight."  
  
Summers smirked and held open the office door. Logan was surprised that he didn't stay behind – usually Summers hung around after faculty meetings for a private conference. It was always done subtly, but Logan had been hypersensitive to Summers's relationship with Xavier for quite a well. The usual favored-son vibe between Summers and Xavier was off.  
  
"Hey," he said as Summers held the elevator for him. "Things OK with you and the professor?"  
  
Summers glanced to the side, possibly at Logan. "Fine. Why?"  
  
Logan shrugged. "I dunno. Just, usually you hang out for a while with him. Doing all your school business."  
  
"School business isn't really paramount at the moment," Summers said as the doors opened in the basement. He walked out crisply, and Logan followed, feeling he hadn't got the right answer.  
  
"Nah, I mean – you mad at him or something?"  
  
Summers stopped at the door to locker room, just next to the Danger Room. "It's freaking me out a little that you care, Logan," he said, his hand on the door frame.  
  
Logan rolled his eyes. "Don't think it's not bothering me, too."  
  
Summers nodded, then opened the door, which Logan took as an end to the conversation. He followed Summers in after a moment's hesitation. If Summers was going to change into his uniform, maybe it would be better for Logan to be on the other side of the wall, working on the computer. He couldn't quite make himself leave, though, even as Summers approached and unlocked his uniform locker. He drew out his combat visor, not his uniform, and Logan felt both relieved and disappointed.  
  
He switched the visor out with his sunglasses and turned to Logan. "This is my spare," he said. "I keep the good one upstairs, for night calls."  
  
"I wondered," Logan said, then turned away when he realized what he'd said. Fake Summers had always had his battle visor on, too. "Anyway, you ready?"  
  
"If we're just observing, yeah," Summers said with a shrug, following Logan back into the hallway. "I'm not getting into the damn uniform just for this."  
  
Logan commenced with reciting the information that Bobby had given him about programming the machine as they walked into the clear, empty Danger Room.  
  
"I know," Summers said after a moment, when Logan had taken a break to try and remember a series of commands. Logan raised an eyebrow, and Summers stepped up. His fingers flew over the screen, quickly setting up the precise program Logan had been aiming for. "I've put in more hours down here than the next two closest people combined – neither of whom are you," he said, finishing out the program. "I could program this thing to do my laundry if I wanted."  
  
Logan grunted. "Might have you show me that one later."  
  
Summers laughed and adjusted his visor. "I've set up a force field in the northeast corner. We should be able to observe from there without being attacked or even included in the program. This is one of the highest level defensive scenarios that The Phoenix ran – a Total Annihilation scenario."  
  
Logan followed Summers to the northeast corner, hunkering down behind a faintly shimmering, glass-like wall. He knew all about the TA scenarios. They were the ones he ran when he was most pissed off at the world, because the only objective was to eliminate anything that moved. Inevitably, as the difficulty level increased, the scenario became less and less feasible – the computer could throw any combination of mutant or military force out, which made for an eclectic and unpredictable enemy. Logan liked that part of the scenario, but very rarely ran them himself. The danger level was a bit too high to go into it alone, and usually, the scenarios took at least two hours to complete.  
  
They spent twenty minutes behind Summers's force field, watching a computer-generated Phoenix blast the shit out of everything in sight with a wave of her hand. A tree, a truck, a tank, an elephant, even a line of Kevlar-covered soldiers all disappeared into tiny bits of dusty ash as she turned her mind on them. It would have almost been beautiful, and certainly admirable, if it hadn't scared the shit out of Logan. He glanced over and saw Summers watching the whole thing intently, one hand at the power control of his visor. Maybe it looked different through the lens; maybe it was less horrifying.  
  
When the scenario was over – forty minutes to wipe the computer out completely – Logan turned around and sat with his back to the force field and to all the splintered damage beyond it. Summers sat next to him after a moment, and they didn't speak for quite a while.  
  
"The difficulty between Charles and I," Summers said finally, his voice thin, "is that he knew she could do this – had been doing this – and didn't tell me." He shook his head, his hands clenched between his knees. "This scenario, it's from the day before her birthday. Two months ago. She did this in the afternoon and then we went to a movie that night. She used her power to spill the popcorn of the loud mouth guy behind us, and it seemed funny. It  _was_  funny." He looked up for a moment. "This isn't funny."  
  
"What would you have done?" Logan asked, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "If you'd known about the Phoenix."  
  
Summers shrugged and let out of frustrated sigh. "I don't know. I could've – maybe I could've helped her deal with it. Maybe I could've at least better protected the rest of us." He paused, his head tipped down. "I'm not being completely fair to Charles. I knew something was up. Her powers have been out of control since Alkali Lake." He turned slightly toward Logan. "But I thought it was something else."  
  
Logan swallowed. "You thought it was about me."  
  
Summers nodded, a twisted smile on his face. "I figured maybe something had happened, and that she was working so hard to shield the thoughts from me that her control was slipping." He looked back at the ground. "Had no idea how far off I was on that one."  
  
"You know," Logan said, his voice low and quiet, "that was part of it. The thing between me and – and the computer you. I knew there were problems with you two after Alkali. Hell, what I saw from her there – I knew something was up with her. So, I dunno, it made sense, somehow."  
  
"That I would come to you for, what? Distraction?"  
  
Logan appreciated the curiosity in Summers's otherwise flat tone. "Comfort," he muttered, then more loudly, "Looking for a friend."  
  
After a moment, Summers nodded. "Things were pretty weird after that mission. You could tell?" Logan shrugged, then nodded. "How?"  
  
"I got pretty good at watching you two close." Summers laughed, a short sharp bark. Behind them, the whisper of wind over sand picked up briefly; the weather simulation was still in effect. "You weren't the same after she saved us at Alkali."  
  
"It wasn't that," Summers insisted, but Logan saw his hands clenching more tightly. "It was – it was great, what she did. I was proud."  
  
Logan rubbed his hands over his jeans and wished for a cigar. "You're a better guy than me, then, 'cuz the way that went down – scared the shit out of me."  
  
Summers looked up, and for once, Logan could tell he was looking right in his eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up after a moment. "Didn't know you got scared, Logan."  
  
Logan shrugged. "Didn't say I wet my pants. But fear seemed like a pretty good option when the girl I'd been chasing went super-psychic powerful."  
  
"You  _were_  chasing her," he said, his accusation mild.  
  
"I'll chase about anything," Logan replied, shrugging. "It's how I'm built."  
  
"Anything, up to and including me," Summers murmured. Logan took a breath to respond, but the sharp clang of something metal falling behind him made him duck and spin. He drew his claws and peered out at the open field. No Phoenix in sight, just the dusty remains of her attack. Behind him, Summers said, "End Simulation 1." The room shimmered back into a metallic nothingness, leaving Logan crouching behind nothing. He stood, slowly, retracting the claws and not looking at Summers, though he could feel Summers's eyes on him.  
  
"Logan," he said after a moment, when Logan had finally looked up from a careful inspection of his own knuckles – well-healed, as always. "Are you still chasing me?"  
  
"I never was chasing you," Logan muttered. "All a fake, remember? This damn room, and the armbands –"  
  
"It was real to you," Summers said, his voice eerily similar to Jean's. "I get that. So I want to know – are you, is this a problem for you?"  
  
"What, that I used to fuck you and now I can't? I'm dealing with it," Logan said shortly. "Do I miss that? Sure. But I'm not going to jump a student or something."  
  
"I didn't mean –" Summers broke off with a frustrated sigh. "Fine. As long as you're fine, then."  
  
He turned and started toward the door. Logan started to snap at him – something cutting – but he saw the tension in Summers's shoulders, and what came out was, "What about you?"  
  
Summers paused with his hand on the door. "Yeah, Logan, I'm fine, too." He shook his head as he said it, just a caustic tip to the right that made Logan want to reach for him, to slam him against the wall or even just to touch his face.   
  
He kept his hands at his sides. "Good."  
  
"Yeah." Summers opened the door and walked out, and by the time Logan followed him, he felt completely steady again. "We should have Storm observe tomorrow. And maybe Hank. I'd be interested to hear from a scientific perspective exactly what's happening."  
  
Logan agreed and offered to drop in and tell Hank that evening; he needed to stop in at the clinic, anyway, and check on a kid from his last class. He and Summers parted ways at the elevator with just a wave and a nod exchanged. Logan hesitated for a moment as he saw Summers walking down the hall, feeling something like regret for his angry reaction to Summers's question, but he let it go. He wasn't chasing Summers anymore; he'd never, in fact, chased this Summers. The Summers he wanted didn't really exist, after all.  
  


* * *

  
  
Logan arrived early for the Danger Room session the next night, just in time to see Summers walk out of the locker room wearing his combat visor. "Hank can't make it tonight – something's up in the lab – but he should be available tomorrow."  
  
Summers nodded. "Just us, then," he said, opening the door. Logan paused and started to ask after Storm, before realizing that she'd flown Professor Xavier to Washington for his once-monthly briefing with the head of the Mutant Rights Association. "I've got a different scenario on tap. This one should give us a better idea of her control of the situation."  
  
The scene – an urban scenario, this time, with tall buildings and dark alleyways – was already running, though there was no sign of Jean or The Phoenix. Summers led Logan to the same force-field protected area as the day before, and they settled in.  
  
This scenario proved more unsettling than the first, because it incorporated something even more appalling: when the scenario began, there was still no sign of the Phoenix, but Jean Grey – the real Jean Grey – was definitely there.  
  
Logan watched Summers watch Jean, watched his face get tight and the line of his mouth harden as she turned from herself into the Phoenix. He put his hand out onto Summers's shoulder without even thinking about it, and Summers didn't flinch away.  
  
"End this," Logan said as the Phoenix obliterated a helicopter and all of its passengers. "We know what happens."  
  
Summers nodded and muttered the words. The scene froze, then vanished. Logan squeezed Summers's shoulder, and he nodded, a sign that he was OK. "Come on, we don't need to do the post on this one."  
  
"Was she a monster, do you think?" he asked as Logan stood. "Is she?"  
  
Logan looked down at Summers. His face was twisted, mouth askew, brows furrowed. Logan wanted to cup his cheek; instead, he held out his hand and pulled Summers to his feet. "Jean, no. This Phoenix thing – yeah."  
  
"But they're one and the same."  
  
Logan shrugged. "With me, with you, I think the mutant side – the X-man side, Wolverine, Cyclops, all that – that's all the same. I'm Wolverine every minute, y'know? But for her – nah. Nah. There was a Jean Gray that was separate from Phoenix."  
  
Summers looked down. "Do you think she still exists?"  
  
Logan took a deep breath. "I dunno. I gotta think – I gotta think no," he said. "She can't ever be the same, at least."  
  
Summers nodded. He kept looking down, and Logan grabbed him by both arms. Summers nodded again, then looked up. He paused like that for a moment. "Charles says the same thing. That there's no real Jean Grey left."  
  
Logan shrugged. "Could be he's right."  
  
"I don't know what to believe," Summers murmured, edging back. He turned around and took a few steps toward the door, then turned back around. He looked both curious and hesitant. "Logan –" He shook his head.  
  
"What?"  
  
Summers cleared his throat and smirked, shook his head again. Just as Logan was getting ready to snap, Summers took three steps forward, grabbed Logan by the shoulders, and kissed him. Logan's reaction was pre-programmed, hardwired. He had Summers back against the Danger Room wall before his brain had even started to click. "What –"  
  
Summers drew back, slightly, the smirk re-emerging. "There aren't that many places I can turn for comfort, right now."  
  
Logan looked hard at him for a moment. If they did this, it would be for real – the real Summers, the real deal. No Jean. No recent history. He might be signing up for ten rounds of fucking and fighting. Summers grinned up at him, though, and Logan found he didn't care. They kissed again, hard and wet and nasty, and Summers's fingers were already pulling Logan's shirt out of his pants.  
  
"Wait," Logan said, catching his wrists. Summers looked up in surprise. "Not in here," Logan growled, and Summers laughed.  
  
"Point taken. My room or yours?"  
  
"Wherever," Logan said. "So long as you don't disappear when we walk outside, we can go anywhere you want."


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't quite what Logan had predicted. Ten rounds of fucking, yeah; over the course of the next three weeks, Summers found his way to Logan's room almost every night. Usually, they just waited everyone out after the now-nightly Phoenix Sessions, then slunk up to Logan's room. Summers always left after; he muttered something about the possibility of overnight call the first night, and Logan never asked for an explanation beyond that. He also never asked about why they always ended up in his significantly smaller quarters; he wasn't eager to wind up in Jean Grey's old bed, no matter how much he liked bedding her old partner.  
  
The fighting, though, didn't materialize. If anything, Summers's behavior toward Logan was better than usual. They were now in open training against the Phoenix, which meant nightly post-scenario talks with the whole team, as well as an increase in scouting missions during downtimes. It wasn't like Summers suddenly sat in Logan's lap or fawned over his performance or anything: but gone was the sharp negative reaction to everything. He no longer had a knee-jerk bad reaction to Logan simply breathing, which Logan appreciated.  
  
They worked well within the team now, too. Summers could use his blast for the long-distance attacking that Logan wasn't capable of, while Logan could get close to Phoenix without worrying too much about bodily harm. They acted as shields for each other almost instinctively.  
  
The scenarios had been getting more and more strenuous; the computer (under direction, Logan guessed, from Xavier) had been letting the Phoenix fly more directly at them. They'd thrown everything they had at her, and nothing, so far, had seemed satisfactory. Logan couldn't afford the optimism that Storm and Hank professed: they both believed that the scenarios were inherently unwinnable, because Xavier's power was nearly useless against a holographic opponent. Summers was quiet on the matter, but Logan, who caught Summers's quiet comments now almost like a soundtrack to his own thoughts, knew that he, too, had reservations about the plans.  
  
Xavier had remained predictably neutral, preferring to gather everyone's opinions on the matter and let people work things out. After a particularly strenuous workout, Logan stood in the hallway, catching his breath and watching his skin heal beneath the cuts on his uniform. Xavier rolled up beside him, his face glistening with sweat.  
  
"Sometimes, Logan, I envy not only your healing factor but your interminable youth," he said, dabbing a handkerchief over his forehead.  
  
He wasn't the only one, Logan knew. Most of the rest of the team had headed to the locker room to clean up before the meeting; Summers had followed Hank to the infirmary to get a nasty cut on his arm treated. Summers had been cut within the last few minutes by a piece of flying debris; Logan was still kicking himself for not intercepting it.  
  
He'd spent most of the session roaming the sidelines, trying to provide support to Storm and Summers. He was really only of use in close proximity, and that was proving nearly impossible to guarantee, with Phoenix dematerializing everything in her path and Magneto hovering nearby, ready to lock Logan's joints.   
  
"I appreciate you and Scott putting your differences aside," the professor said abruptly.  
  
Logan grunted and glanced around. He couldn't hear anything suggestive in the professor's voice, yet it seemed impossible that he didn't know how completely Logan and Summers had patched things up. "Thank Scott," he said, rolling his head around. "I'm not doing anything different."  
  
"On the contrary, Logan, you've been positively friendly of late, and your work with the team has been outstanding. A great improvement, if I may say so, upon the surliness of old." Xavier grinned. "We'll turn you into a team player yet, mark my words."  
  
Logan shook his head and followed Xavier toward the debriefing room. The room was empty, and Logan took a seat on the right side, leaving some room between him and Xavier. "Sure," he said, sprawling out. "I just got a good idea of exactly how hard it's going to be to take Phoenix down."  
  
"Ah, yes," Xavier said. The door opened, and Storm walked in, trailing Marie. "Well, even recognizing that there can be value to working as a team is an improvement I'll not only take, but take some credit for."  
  
Logan smirked, but held back a snide reply as Marie sat across from him, in the seat next to Storm. The kids were getting more involved, now; summer was approaching, after all, and some of them – like Marie and Bobby – were nearly finished with their formal schooling at Xavier's. As they would likely be asked to join the X-men, it seemed only fair to get them trained on what they'd be facing. Logan wasn't in love with the idea of the kids – Marie in particular – going out into the world to face off with the likes of the Phoenix, but he'd been careful to make those arguments only in private, to the other faculty members.  
  
The door opened again, admitting Summers, Hank, and Bobby Drake. Hank and Bobby were talking animatedly about something, and though Summers was nodding along, Logan could tell he was distracted. His right hand supported his left arm in a way that would have looked casual to anyone who wasn't well-versed in the ways and means of Scott Summers's body. He took the chair on Logan's right, next to Xavier. Logan leaned over to ask about Summers's arm, but Xavier beat him to the question.  
  
"It's fine," Summers said shortly, putting both hands on the table. Logan could see the slight bulge of a bandage under Summers's long-sleeved shirt.  
  
Xavier commenced the meeting, which began with the usual re-run of the highlights reel from the Danger Room scenario. Storm had managed to almost take Phoenix out with a good burst of lightning; the computer-guided Phoenix didn't seem to be capable of completely disintegrating a storm. She could, however, shield very well, so Storm's good shot had ricocheted messily, as had most of the blasts that Cyclops had aimed for her.  
  
Bobby, Marie, and their friend Kitty Pride had all been running a side-by-side program pitting them against known associates of Magneto and Phoenix. They had managed to keep them busy while the X-men dealt with Magneto and had tried to deal with Phoenix.  
  
"I think this is a more probable scenario than the last," Xavier said, turning off the television.  
  
Summers agreed. "An urban conflict like this is probably much more likely than something more rural, particularly if we're assuming a defensive stance. Magneto's got to be planning something."  
  
"We may have a bit more news on that tomorrow," Xavier said, giving Hank a significant look.   
  
Hank crossed his blue hands and nodded. "I leave for Washington just after the meeting. Young Ms. Pride has agreed to accompany me, which is why she was unable to attend this evening."  
  
"Going fishing for files, are you?" Logan asked, raising a brow. Hank had been on staff with the current president for a while, until the last Mutant Registration Act attempt had drawn him back to the school. He was still tapped in to the pipeline from the administration, and, better still, knew where everything was kept in Washington.  
  
"Just some light observation," Hank answered, his voice cheery and false, and Logan grinned.  
  
Usually, Xavier took time to go from person to person at the table, collecting thoughts and ideas that could help to better the scenario the next time. Now he just nodded at Hank's comment and glanced around. Logan looked out and around, too. Everyone looked battle-weary tonight; the black dirt of the fake city covered everyone. Even Storm, who always seemed to glow above everything, looked tired and grimy. "I think perhaps tonight we could skip our customary commentary, if no one has any objections?" Logan glanced at Storm, then at Summers, both of whom seemed equally surprised. "It seems to me that a good night's rest might benefit us all more than additional training."  
  
"Urban scenario again tomorrow?" Summers asked. He handled most of the programming.  
  
"No scenario tomorrow," the professor said, wheeling back from the table. "With all this training, I haven't had a good glass of wine in a fortnight. I intend to remedy that right now, and also tomorrow. We'll pick up the scenarios again after the weekend recon missions."  
  
Logan stood as everyone else did, feeling a bit confused by the professor's early dismissal. He walked into the hall with Marie, who looked dazed.  
  
"What 'm I gonna do with all this time?" she asked, looking up at him. "I thought for sure we'd be in there 'til midnight again."  
  
"Go back to your room, get some sleep," Logan advised, squeezing her shoulder.  
  
She nodded slowly. "I could do that, I suppose. I just – you don't think something's wrong?"  
  
"Nah," Logan said with more confidence than he felt.   
  
Bobby chimed up from Marie's side. "We've been pushing pretty hard lately. Maybe he's just trying to keep us all from burning out."  
  
Summers walked out at that moment, cradling his injured hand against his chest. He nodded to the kids as he walked by but didn't meet Logan's eye. "Might be too late there," Marie said with a sympathetic cluck. "He looks pretty bad anymore, huh?"  
  
"I hadn't noticed," Logan said, trying to make his tone dry. In truth, he hadn't noticed that Summers looked anything other than like himself – or, at least, his drawn, post-Jean self.  
  
"C'mon, I thought you were getting along," Marie said as they started to walk toward the elevator. Logan shot her a look, and she shrugged and ducked her head. "Well, you haven't beat each other up in weeks," she murmured. "And I figured, with Dr. Gray gone, and you being a real part of the team, now –"  
  
"What are you, channeling the professor, now?" Logan asked, stopping at the elevator. Marie grinned. "Listen, go get some sleep. Or… whatever," he said, noticing Bobby's hand on her gloved elbow. Bobby blushed, but Marie's grin just grew wider. Logan leaned in and kissed her cheek, feeling the brief tingle of her power before he pulled away. "Relax. And don't worry about Summers."  
  
She nodded and turned, taking Bobby's hand and getting into the elevator. Logan opted for the stairs, taking two flights up. He was in front of Summers's door before he'd even thought about what to say.  
  
"What?"  
  
Logan let himself in and closed the door partway behind him. Summers looked up from the desk, staring at the window, and Logan realized he was catching Logan's reflection there. The glasses he had did weird things to his vision; he couldn't see in color, but he could see a lot of things that no one else could pick up.  
  
"Not tonight, Logan, OK?" Summers said, shaking his head.  
  
"Not why I'm here," Logan said, though really, he couldn't explain his presence. Instead he took a step or two to the side, studying the room. The bed sat in the center, neatly made with dark blue sheets and undented pillows. A dresser sat against the opposite wall and held only a few items: Summers's glasses case, his watch, his wallet, a bulky set of keys, and a blue glass bottle of cologne. No pictures of Jean; no remaining signs of her presence. Logan was surprised. He'd expected a mausoleum, a collection of feminine things amongst Summers's own. That was really why he'd never come in here. He'd never really believed that Summers had moved past Jean. It was a little shocking to see how completely he'd cleaned her out.  
  
"So what, then?" Summers asked, half-turning in his chair. Logan didn't miss the fact that Summers had tucked his injured left arm under the desk, out of Logan's sight.  
  
Logan cast around for a reason. "Came to see if I could borrow your bike."  
  
Summers stared at him, then laughed. "You ask, now?"  
  
Logan shrugged. "Seems like the thing to do."  
  
Summers paused, then tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Keys are on top of the dresser. Just bring it back with some gas in it, huh?"  
  
"Sure, pal." Logan turned and palmed the keys.  
  
"Where are you taking it, dare I ask?"  
  
"Up to town. Ran out of beer." Logan ran his hand over the empty surface of the dresser, then looked back at Summers. "Tell you what. Why don't you let me borrow the car, and you come with me?"  
  
Summers turned fully around. Logan jingled the keys before him. "You asking me on a date, Logan?" Summers asked, his mouth twisted into an almost cruel smirk.  
  
"I don't date," Logan said, as flat and factual as possible. He pocketed Summers's keys, then reached over and grabbed his wallet, held it out. "Come on. We got a night off, might as well get out of this place." He glanced down at Summers's injured arm. "Unless you aren't feeling up to it."  
  
Summers took the wallet in his left hand. Logan caught the sight of a bloodied bandage under the cuff of his sleeve, and appreciated the fact that Summers didn't wince at all. "Let's go, then. But I drive."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
Logan let Summers drive, though he picked the destination: Harry's, a hole-in-the-wall type bar on the very edge of Westchester. "Turn left," Logan instructed even as Summers was signaling.  
  
"I know where it is," Summers said. He smirked. "I was a teenager here, Logan, you don't think I mapped out every bar within striking distance?"  
  
"Harry's just doesn't seem your type of place."  
  
"I'm pretty good at Galaga," Summers said. "And it's one of the only places where they never seem to question a guy showing up in sunglasses all the time."  
  
Logan grunted. Harry's was a no-questions-asked type of place. It was one of the reasons that Logan liked it so much; most of the other bars in the area employed chatty bartenders who eventually asked all the wrong questions: where you coming from, who you staying with, what are you doing out here?  
  
Harry's was just as Logan remembered it, from the gravel parking lot to the dark, slightly dank-smelling interior. They took two seats at the end of the bar, and the bartender – a tall, surly type -- poured them two Guinness drafts and then left them alone. Logan drank half of his in two gulps, then toyed with a handful of peanuts from a wooden bowl. "So, you were here in high school?"  
  
Summers shrugged. "Or just after. There was a summer that I spent quite a bit of time out here. Around the time that Charles gave up on ever having a good fix for my eyesight."  
  
"Before the glasses?"  
  
"After." Summers took a sip of his beer. He rested his injured hand in his lap. "How'd you find this place?"  
  
Logan shrugged and chewed on the peanuts. He wasn't too proud of his answer. "Marie." Summers looked surprised, almost apprehensive. Logan drained his glass. "I guess Pyro took her and Bobby out here once, looking to impress. Burnt up some shit in the back room. She asked me to straighten things out, so I did." What he'd done, actually, was take Pyro by the scruff of his neck and frog march him back to the bar, where he'd apologized and made substantial financial reparations.  
  
Summers laughed. "John St. John. What a fucking mess, that kid." His beer was almost half empty, now, and Logan signaled the bartender for two more. "Can't say that his defection was much of a surprise."  
  
"You win some, you lose some," Logan said, and Summers snorted. "What?"  
  
"I always figured you'd be one we'd lose," Summers said, looking up and over evenly.  
  
Logan blinked. "You thought –" he paused as the bartender set their new drinks down. "You thought I'd go to Magneto?"  
  
Summers shook his head. "I thought you'd just go," he murmured. "Particularly after Alkali – after it was clear Jean wasn't... interesting anymore." Summers cocked his head to the side. "I still don't complete get it, what's keeping you here." He grinned. "And don't say me, because I won't buy that, either."  
  
Logan nodded, slowly, and took a contemplative sip of his beer. The bitter taste ran down his throat, and he closed his eyes. "I guess it was – we came back from that lake, that whole thing, and I – it was like, the stuff I heard there, from Stryker, that was some pretty bad shit." He opened his eyes, tired of the scene replaying behind them: Stryker at the bottom of the dam, telling him he'd volunteered for the experiments. The worst part was, sometimes he could feel how it might be true.  
  
"So you, what, you stayed to try and make good?"  
  
Logan shook his head and leaned forward, feeling almost frantic. He needed Summers to understand this. "We came back, and the professor, he said, you know, stay. Hang around, help out. And I felt wanted," he said. "Needed, almost. Not that – not that you guys weren’t getting it done, not that I felt like, you know, some kind of hero after that shit, because –" he stopped. It was Jean, really, who'd been the hero that day, Jean who'd saved them all. He shook his head. "I wanted to stay because I wanted to help."  
  
"The kids," Summers said slowly.  
  
Logan started to say no, then stopped. "Them, maybe. But also – everyone else. Mutants. People like – me. And you." Summers started to ask something, but Logan waved him off. "I ain't felt like a part of something, really, for a long time – longer than I can remember, literally. And Marie found me in that bar, and I promised I'd take care of her, and maybe – maybe that's it, maybe that promise to her is what keeps me coming back. Only it's gotten bigger, you know? I can't take care of her and let everyone else down."  
  
Summers smiled, faintly, then leaned forward and clinked his glass to Logan's. "Welcome to the team," he said, and Logan laughed and took a sip.  
  
"That's what keeps you here, then?"  
  
"Duty, honor, all that stuff," Summers agreed, starting on his second beer. "And it's not like there are a lot of other places for me to go." He gestured to his sunglasses.  
  
"There's always other places to go," Logan said, his voice low. "Guys like you and me, no reason you can't just walk out the door, someday. You can't tell me there's anything out there that would break you, after all the shit we've been through."  
  
Summers shrugged. "As many reasons as I've ever had to go, I've got twice as many to stay." He held up a hand and started ticking off fingers. "My students. My classes. Hell, my bike. All of my money's tied up in the school. The professor, to whom I owe, Jesus, Logan, everything." He paused, lifting his ring finger. "For a long time, Jean." He lowered the finger. "And now the threat of her." He clenched his fist. "At the end of the day, nowhere else feels as safe. And, arrogant as it may be, no one knows that place like I do, so I don't feel it's safe when I'm away."  
  
They sat in silence, then, for a while, each nursing his drink, Summers absently rubbing his left wrist from time to time. The bar around them had slow trade that night, just two booths full of quietly drunk couples and a guy in flannel playing a video game in the corner and quietly cursing to himself with each new quarter dropped in. Nothing in this place felt out of the ordinary. No one here had any idea of the danger that lurked without, and even within. Summers wasn't a dangerous-feeling guy, not like Logan, who wore his violence on his face, but the two of them together could tear this place to the ground in less than five minutes. Phoenix could do it in less, a thought that made Logan pound the remainder of his beer and call for a third. Summers shook off the offer with a smirk.  
  
"I'm driving," he said, and Logan laughed.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Summers shrugged. "Where's all of her stuff?"  
  
Summers laughed roughly and swirled his beer. "Down the hall, I guess. She moved out before she – moved out," he said. "Remember?"  
  
Logan swallowed. He hadn't really thought about that. "So you two – you were really over?"  
  
"Fuck, who knows?" Summers said. "I was with Jean since I was Rogue's age – younger, even. It's pretty hard to figure out how that kind of thing ends." He poured a handful of peanuts on to the bar and started to divide them into small piles. "If nothing had changed, if she hadn't started to be overwhelmed by the Phoenix, all of that? Would we still be the same? Probably. Momentum, all that."  
  
"And you loved her."  
  
"There's that." Summers smiled. "But things weren't the same. Things weren't working. It's like you said – she wasn't the same, so we couldn't be, either." He dragged his finger through a pile of peanuts, neatly dividing them in half. Behind them, a loud thud echoed from the video game machine as the man playing hit the screen. Logan watched Summers cast a glance to the side and decide the man wasn’t a threat. "Lots of talking, all of it means the same thing: we were over, we are over. And now we're training to kill her, so the rest of it seems pretty irrelevant."  
  
Logan nodded and turned back to his own drink. He had to agreed. Love Jean, hate Jean, want Jean, Jean was gone. All that was left was the blank, cold fact that what remained in her place was a monster who, by all reports, wanted to end them.  
  
Summers pushed his beer away. The man at the video game had started to shake it, and the bartender had just cleared the other end of the bar, heading toward him. "I don't feel like fighting tonight," Summers said, tipping his head toward the game and lifting his left hand. "Let's go back, huh?"  
  
Logan made him stop at the corner market to pick up a pack of bottled beer and some microwave popcorn, the buttery kind that Marie liked. When they pulled into the garage at the house, Summers turned off the car but didn't get out. Logan held the cold beer in his lap and wondered exactly what was about to happen.  
  
"Here's the thing, Logan," he said quietly. "Things with her are over, were over, all of that. But I don't know – I'm not up for something new, not yet. The stuff with you and me –" He paused. "The problem is, it's not quite in me just to say that it's nothing."  
  
Logan nodded. He'd guessed that. "I'm a team player, now," he said, and Summers laughed.  
  
"Yeah." He pulled the keys out of the ignition. "Come on. You should put that in the faculty fridge. I had to chase Kitty away from your stash twice last week."  
  
That night, after he put away the beer and popcorn, Logan followed Summers up to his room, and Summers invited him in with a tip of his head. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, and Logan stood in middle of the room, trying to pick up something from the few objects hanging around. The room felt empty, he realized. It wasn't just Jean's presence that was missing; it was Summers's. The room felt more empty than clean.  
  
He turned to ask Summers about this – say hey, what's the deal, you not unpacked after a hundred year of living here – but Summers emerged from the bathroom without a shirt on and Logan's attention was diverted. Summers had a fresh bandage taped around his arm, and his face and hair were slightly wet from washing. His skin was pale over his chest save for the odd bruise or scrape or scar: a warrior's body. Logan sat on the bed and let Summers push him back, climb over him, kiss him, fuck him. He fell asleep after and woke to the gray light of morning and the sound of Summers in the shower.  
  
Logan shook off sleep and sat up, then pulled on his clothes. He thought for a moment about staying, waiting for Summers to get done in the shower, but it felt strange, somehow, wrong. He buckled his belt and stood at the door, listening for footsteps in the hallway beyond. Hearing nothing, he stepped out, rubbing a hand through his hair. He'd go back to his room, grab a shower and some cleaner clothes, then wander down to breakfast. By then, his head would be unfogged, the scent of Summers's sheets and body and scars gone, and he'd be able to think more clearly.  
  
His plan worked well. When he arrived at breakfast, Summers met his gaze with a confident, almost friendly nod, and Logan managed not to pounce on him immediately, so all was well with them. Marie stopped him and drew him into the chair next to hers, thanking him for the popcorn and smiling sweetly. Even over her perfume and the soap from her shower, Logan could smell Bobby Drake on her, and he felt a flare of protective anger, then a flash of curiosity. "You guys have a good time last night?" he asked, flicking his eyes toward the corner of the room, where Drake was talking to another student.  
  
Marie grinned. "Professor Summers got the new kid, Leech, assigned to the room next to Bobby's." She laughed as Logan did the math on that one. "He's got about a four-foot range, but his bed's right against the wall, so –"  
  
"I'm not sure I wanna hear details," Logan said, grimacing, and Marie laughed. She took a healthy bite of scrambled eggs and offered Logan her bacon. It was too crispy, but he ate it anyway.  
  
"What'd you do with your night off?"  
  
"Team building exercises," he said, not looking at Summers. Marie narrowed her eyes, but Logan shrugged. "Took Cyclops to that bar you and Pyro nearly closed down."  
  
Marie raised a curious eyebrow. "So you guys are getting along?"  
  
"Easier than having to watch my back all the time." He looked up as Professor Xavier wheeled into the dining room. Xavier nodded evenly to Logan in a way that made Logan think he knew, somehow, exactly what Logan had been doing with his time off. Logan swallowed, then took a long drink of water to cover. "I gotta talk to Storm about some stuff," he said, quickly eating the last sausage on his plate. Marie nodded, her attention already drawn away by Bobby's approach. Logan tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked up, her eyes wide.  
  
"Just – be careful, all right?" he said, glancing up at Bobby again. Bobby blinked sharply and stopped.  
  
Marie nodded. "Aren't I always, Logan?"  
  
He nodded. He looked up at Bobby again, barely resisting the urge to give the kid a little growl. Bobby met his eyes, though, which was an improvement. Logan tapped Marie on the head, then left her for the front table with the faculty.  
  
Over a plate of barely-cooked bacon, Logan got Storm to agree to help him with a new obstacle course he was planning for his advanced class. The endlessly sunny and temperate days of late had provided little challenge for his students; a localized disturbance would certainly put a little more urgency into everyone's pace in the maze.  
  
"Maybe this weekend?" Logan asked, and Storm nodded.  
  
"Unless we're called for other duty," she said, her voice soft, and Logan nodded. They both looked to where Xavier and Summers were conferring. Summers stood and looked over at them both, meeting Logan's eyes for a second. His plate lay abandoned, bagel untouched, on the other side of Storm's. He walked over and dropped a hand on Storm's shoulder. "Meeting tonight, after dinner."  
  
Storm nodded. "Something up?" Logan asked.  
  
Summers shook his head, looking over the room. Too many eyes and ears. "Hank will be back by then." He let go of Storm and took a step back, then turned toward the kitchen. Logan glanced at Storm, who shrugged. She lived with suspense better than Logan could. He left his plate at the table and followed Summers into the kitchen.  
  
He was standing in front of the fridge, holding a bottle of milk. Logan leaned against the kitchen island behind him. "So what's up?" he asked.  
  
Summers pulled down a glass. "Charles wasn't very specific. Hank and Kitty found some files that he thinks are 'troubling.'" He poured himself a glass of milk, then put the bottle in the fridge. With his back still turned, he said, "Also, he knows about us."  
  
Flashes of intimate pictures flickered through Logan's mind, and he gripped the counter hard to hide his shudder. No way he wanted Xavier seeing that stuff. "How'd that happen?"  
  
Summers shrugged and turned around. "The old-fashioned way. He saw you coming out of my room this morning." Summers smiled, a fragile, caustic smile. "He's not particularly thrilled."  
  
"Fuck him," Logan said, and Summers choked on his milk. "No, really, at what point did any of this become his business?"  
  
"That's actually almost exactly what I asked," Summers said. "And he said –"  
  
"It's not the fact that you're having sex that bothers me," Xavier said, wheeling in quietly from the doorway. Logan grimaced, wondering how exactly Xavier had managed to sneak up without his hearing it. "It's the potential for disruption of our team that your coupling presents."  
  
Summers murmured over the top of his milk glass, his voice absolutely deadpan, "Because when Storm finds out you got me first, she's going to go Category 5 Hurricane on your ass."  
  
Logan snickered. He turned to Xavier, who shook his head. "I have no concerns over issues like that," he said, then tipped his head toward Logan, "though you may want to take care with exactly how Rogue finds out about this. No," he continued, "my concern is more for the fact that, should something happen between the two of you that's not so friendly, the potential disruption to our training efforts would be, well, catastrophic."  
  
"You think I'm going to get mad and walk out, is that it?" Logan asked, watching Xavier.  
  
"Actually, my concern is for Scott."  
  
Summers coughed quietly, and Logan glanced to the side. "Where would I go, Charles?" he asked.  
  
Xavier's eyes were focused tightly on Summers's, and Logan looked between the two of them, wondering what, exactly, was being said. After a moment, Summers looked away. He set his glass down on the counter and seemed to focus on his hand.  
  
"All that I ask," Xavier said, his voice almost gentle, "is that you use some discretion, and that you consider the repercussions that a falling out between the two of you would have on those around you. We can't afford the luxury of selfishness right now."  
  
"When could we?" Summers asked quietly. Xavier's eyes as he looked at Summers were filled with such emotion – sympathy, concern, consternation – that Logan looked away, feeling like an intruder. Summers straightened up and met Xavier's eyes. "Thank you for your concern, Charles," he said, his voice formal and full. "I'm sure we'll let you know if any problems arise."  
  
Xavier nodded, equally formal, and turned to leave the room. Summers turned toward the counter, his back to Logan, who was, again, speechless. He wanted to reach out and grab Summers, pull him in close and forget everything Xavier had said; he wanted to walk out of the room, maybe out of the mansion, and forget that he'd ever touched Summers at all. Mostly, he wanted to go back to the feeling he'd had the night before, the uncomplicated desire and admiration that made things work between them.  
  
"The problem with this place," he said, taking a step forward and leaning against the counter next to Summers, just within his personal space, "is that everything has to be so complicated."  
  
Summers laughed, and Logan leaned over, nudged him with his shoulder. "Fuck it," he said. "You wanna call things off until everything's less tense, fine."  
  
Summers turned abruptly, facing Logan, his chest almost against Logan's arm. "You'd still want to do this?"  
  
"Sure," Logan said easily, because the proximity to Summers was getting him a little hot.  
  
Logan heard footsteps a moment before the door swung open, giving him just enough time to step back from Summers before Storm entered with a student. Storm gave them a quick once over, checking for signs of a fight, Logan could tell, but she seemed placated by Summers's nod of reassurance. "I've got class," Summers said quietly as Storm continued her discussion.  
  
"Yeah, me, too," Logan said, stepping back to allow Summers room to pass him by. He stopped at the edge of the counter and looked at Logan for a moment.  
  
"Tonight, after the meeting –" he said, and Logan nodded.  
  
"I'll be there."  
  


* * *

  
  
Their scheduled rendezvous, though, was ruined by the meeting's content. Hank and Kitty had found evidence in the files of the Mutant Division that outlined a plan for a nationwide "vaccination," based on genetic material drawn from Leech.  
  
"It hasn't come to fruition yet," Hank said as they all stared at copies of the papers in question. "With the genetic information they have from Leech, though, it seems likely that they'll be able to manufacture an X-gene reversal vaccination within the next six to nine months."  
  
"Son of a bitch," Logan whispered. He glanced over at Summers. "I knew we should've torched that laboratory."  
  
"That would've done you no good, Logan," the professor said. "From what I understand, though the main research facility is at Alcatraz, there are extensive backups of the computer systems at the Worthington Laboratories site in Connecticut. In fact, I believe the actual genetic material upon which they're basing their vaccination was moved to that location after your rescue at Alcatraz."  
  
Summers closed his report. "So that's where Magneto will strike."  
  
"I believe so, yes. I think it's reasonable to assume that any information we have, Magneto has seen, as well. His presence in and around the department is, of course, substantial." Mystique's name was unspoken. The lights dimmed on some command from the professor, and the table before them glowed to life. Raised metal representations of a several skyscrapers came to life. Logan leaned forward, listening and feeling out the situation. Urban combat, indeed.  
  
"It's all metal," Storm murmured after Xavier had outlined what he guessed to be Magneto's great plan.  
  
"What about this kid, Leech?" Logan asked, looking from Storm's wide eyes to Xavier's cool ones.  
  
"He's far too young to be taken into battle, Logan," Xavier said, and Logan shook his head impatiently.  
  
"No, I mean, can't we manufacture our own version of the vaccine?" He looked at Hank, who pressed the tips of his fingers thoughtfully to his lips.  
  
"For use on whom?" Storm asked.  
  
"Magneto," Logan said. "Magento, Pyro, Mystique." He paused and looked at Summers, who seemed to be looking straight back. "Phoenix."  
  
"Use it militarily on other mutants?" Xavier said, his tone skeptical.   
  
"It is possible," Hank said. "With the documents we recovered in these files, and with the willing cooperation of the boy, I might be able to put something very similar together. However, it would only be as good as their best prototype, which would fall short of any permanent efficacy."  
  
Summers frowned, and Logan growled, "In English."  
  
"The effects would be temporary."  
  
"Temporary would give us time," Logan said, "to solve the problems otherwise."  
  
"Disable them, then kill them," Xavier murmured. Logan was glad that Marie and Bobby weren't present; he wasn't sure he would have been able to press this case in front of her. As it was, he was struggling to do it with Summers in the audience. "If we could get Phoenix back here, I might still be able to help her. I don't know that –"  
  
"How many people could Phoenix kill with one thought?" Logan asked. "How many has Magneto endangered?" Xavier didn't blink, but neither did Logan. "Sometimes it ain't the intent that matters, right? You told me that. It's the results. And the results, here, could be millions dead on one side."  
  
Xavier closed his eyes. No one spoke for a moment. Logan couldn't look around the table. When Xavier's eyes opened, they were hard and cold. "Hank, synthesize as much of the vaccine as you can. Ask Jimmy very nicely to assist us in our operation – I believe he will be glad to volunteer. Storm, Logan, work on the logistics of delivery. Scott, I want a tactical analysis of the Worthington building and its nearest neighbors. If Magneto's going to take the place down, I want to know what the best way would be." He nodded curtly, then said, "And Scott, I'll need you to fly me to Washington in the morning. The new secretary should be briefed on the threat."  
  
Everything seemed to be frozen for a moment after he spoke. Logan glanced around, wondering if this would be the moment in which the team decided it was too much, too far. Then Summers nodded and said, "Of course," and the spell was broken. Storm touched Logan's wrist to get his attention, then started giving him a list of the information they'd need to gather the next day to figure out the best method of delivery for the vaccination. Summers was conferring with Charles and Hank about the Worthington structure. He looked over at Logan, just briefly, during a pause as Hank moved from their group to Logan's. Summers shrugged, just briefly, an apology for the night lost, and Logan nodded. They'd have time again after.  
  


* * *

  
  
The timeframe was shorter than they'd anticipated. Xavier called a meeting the next afternoon, just after he and an exhausted-looking Summers had returned from Washington, and told everyone they were most likely a go for that weekend. "On Sunday night, Worthington does a computer synchronization with all of its outlying units. If Magneto were to strike during that window, he would be able to eliminate all of the records at once, simply by taking out the mainframe in Connecticut." Xavier's mouth grew grim. "I'm not saying I don't want him to succeed in this. But I believe his method may be far less surgical than what we would advocate."  
  
"You think he'll have her obliterate the place?"  
  
Xavier frowned. "I'm not sure that Eric knows the Phoenix's precise strength. He probably intends to use her to seek out the exact locations of the computer and the DNA samples from Leech, and then to destroy them himself. But through her, thousands of lives could be lost." He called up the schematics of the Worthington building that Summers had worked up. The building shone before them in a cutaway, the levels divided between a majority of bright blues and a few red levels near the street. "The laboratories are contained mostly on the lower seven levels of the building and the three basement levels. Above them, there are forty stories of apartments, housing approximately 1,000 residents.  
  
"Our problem is this: to evacuate the building completely over mere speculation isn't possible. Beyond that, it would certainly tip off Magneto as to our knowledge of his plans, a chance that the CEO of Worthington labs was not willing to take." Xavier paused. The words were clearly distasteful to him. He waved his pointer at the screen and outlined the other tactical problems they would face: three of the surrounding buildings were residential structures, as well. The neighboring building to the north provided relatively easy access to the Worthington labs through a shared wall in the basement. This was where Summers predicted Magneto would try to make his entrance.  
  
Logan and Storm had figured that the best delivery of the vaccine would be in concentrated aerosol form. Hank had assured them he would be able to provide enough of it to fuel two hand-grenade type devices, which could be launched at Magneto and Phoenix. What happened next was what they had talked over the least, though Logan was pretty clear on what would have to go down. Magneto they could knock out – underneath the shiny metal helmet, he was just an old man, after all, and they'd managed to imprison him before. Phoenix, though – nothing on Earth could hold her.  
  
Their basic plan was one of containment and surprise. Xavier would accompany the team to get a read on everyone's positions; he would work as their mobile command unit, sending messages from person to person. He would also try to distract Phoenix long enough to allow the team a chance to set off a grenade in her vicinity.  
  


* * *

  
Everything happened so fast.  
  
One minute, they were landing on the roof of the building next to Worthington, cloaked and quiet. The next, Magneto had hold of Logan's skeleton, and he was floating across the roof, the professor suspended next to him, engaged in a mental battle with the Phoenix. Logan heard Summers's shouts and the rush of Storm gathering the wind, and then he was crashing to the surface of the roof, everything stinging, the rushing roar of a detonated vaccine grenade echoing in his ears.  
  
Magneto flicked his hands at Logan as he crawled closer, panic lighting his eyes as he realized his powers were gone. Logan hefted himself to his feet, blood dripping from his nose, and took one more step. The punch he landed across Magneto's jaw knocked his head backward, and he crumpled to the ground. Mystique landed on Logan's back only a second later, but an elbow with the heavy momentum of adamantium knocked her back and down. Summers, Marie, and Bobby Drake landed on the roof behind him as Logan used his claws to clinically remove every scrap of metal from Magneto's body. "I got this," Bobby said, rubbing his hands together before laying them on the roof surface. A room of ice bloomed before them, neatly imprisoning Magneto and Mystique.  
  
Logan rubbed his nose. He could feel his healing factor returning, even as his glove came back bloody. Summers gave him a critical once-over. "OK?" he asked.   
  
Logan nodded. "Where's the professor?"  
  
Summers gestured toward the other end of the roof. Logan glanced at Bobby and Marie. "Stay here. They move, you freeze 'em. Solid, if you have to."  
  
Drake nodded, and so did Marie. Her eyes were wide, her hands shaking. "Logan –"  
  
"Stay with Bobby," Logan said, turning to follow Summers. "Pyro's around here somewhere."  
  
He ran after Summers toward the opposite side of the roof. Hank and Kitty had gone inside to try and run interference between Magneto's guys and the computer main, so only Storm and the professor were left to assist with Phoenix. She was standing on the very ledge of the building, looking down in such a way that Logan thought she might be contemplating a jump. The professor was next to her, and his intense glare told Logan theirs was an ongoing mental conversation.   
  
"Don't," Storm breathed, throwing out an arm to stop Logan or Summers from rushing the Phoenix.  
  
The professor rocked forward in his chair. Logan was startled when he heard the professor's voice cry across the night.  
  
"Jean, don't do this," he said.  
  
"Get out of my head!"  
  
She half-turned, and her eyes were the blazing red of the Phoenix. She said nothing, only raised her hand. The professor groaned and gripped the handles on his wheelchair tightly. His eyes stayed focused on her, even as he began to float up and out of his chair. Logan reached for him, as did Summers, but they were too late; he was already out of reach, floating over the open air. Storm was screaming at Jean, pleading with her, and Logan could feel the energy crackling between Phoenix and the professor. He realized what was happening only a moment before it did, and he reached out and pulled Summers and Storm down a few seconds before Phoenix destroyed Xavier.  
  
When they pushed themselves up, she was standing on the roof before them. She looked stunned, the flames gone from her eyes. Storm was sobbing. "Jean," she said, "Jean, how could you? How could –"  
  
Logan saw Jean there, just for a moment. He saw the hurt and confusion in her eyes, and then the soul-crushing despair, as she looked at Xavier's empty wheelchair. "Oh, God," she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "I didn't –"  
  
The grenade went off with a flash. Logan hadn't even realized Summers had thrown it. He stood and approached Jean – not Phoenix, not quite – his hands balled into fists at his side. "Jean, is it you?" he asked.  
  
"Scott," she whispered, and the voice was fully Jean. "Oh, Scott, what have I done?"  
  
"It's all right," he said quietly, pacing closer. "It wasn't you. We only have a moment, the vaccine will wear off."  
  
Jean took three quick steps toward Summers, as if to fall into his arms, but he stepped back even as Logan stood, ready to come between them. "I never meant for any of this," Jean said, standing a few feet away. "I never meant –"  
  
"It's all right," Summers said. "It's almost over. Can you control her?"  
  
Jean shook her head, and a painful sob came out. "She's so strong," she said. "She's always been so strong." She held out her hand. "Help me, Scott."  
  
He paused. Everything seemed to happen at once, then. Summers's hand went out just as Logan saw the familiar flicker of red return to Phoenix's eyes. He felt a sizzle of energy across his neck as he dove for Summers, knocking him to the ground as the Phoenix kicked up a dust storm of particles around them. Logan felt the burn of his uniform being melted away and his skin being torn on one side; and then nothing. His healing factor kicked in, the rush in his ears faded, and the only sound left was the fast in-out of Summers's breathing beneath him.  
  
He looked up and over. Phoenix was crumpled on the ground, her head against her knees, a thin trail of smoke rising from a burnt patch all around her. Logan looked back and saw Storm resettling into herself, her eyes rolling out of white and into color again. She gave Logan a hard, cool look. "Are you all right?" Logan nodded. He hadn't even heard the thunder. "And Scott?"  
  
Logan looked down. Summers was unconscious – from the fall or from the lightning burst, he couldn't tell. His forehead had a quarter-sized burn over the right eyebrow, and his glasses had been knocked askew, but otherwise, he seemed OK. Logan straightened his glasses and then put his hand on Summers's cheek, and Summers stirred slowly before waking with a gasp. He tried to sit up but groaned, pressing a hand to his chest, and instead looked to the side. Logan could tell the precise moment when he saw Phoenix's remains, because his entire body went rigid.  
  
"It's all right," Logan said quietly, drawing Summers close, turning his head away. Summers wrapped his arms around Logan's chest and pressed his face to it. "It's all over, now."  
  
Storm walked over and leaned against Logan, too, her hands clinging to his shoulders. Logan let neither of them look back at Phoenix's body; returning her to the mansion was something he could undertake himself. For now, the steady rush of Summers's breath against his neck was enough.  
  


* * *

  
Summers was barely healed by the time they held the memorial services. He'd broken – or rather, as he was keen to remind him, Logan had broken for him – three of his ribs when Logan had pushed him down. Whether the broken wrist and concussion were Logan's fault or the fault of the Phoenix remained up for debate. The burns on his face and hand had required small skin grafts, meaning they'd been the work of the Phoenix and her splendid skin-removing magic. Only the faint singe of his hair could be blamed on Storm's lightning strike, and he never complained about that – he simply cut it all very short upon their arrival at the mansion.  
  
Sitting at the memorial between Summers and Storm on the front row, listening to dignitaries from both worlds pay their long-winded respects to the charity and kindness of Charles Xavier, Logan surprised himself by taking Summers's injured hand into his own. "Stop fidgeting," he murmured, closing his fingers over Summers's. If Storm noticed, she didn't say anything.  
  
Marie, however, was not so quiet. "Team building!" she said, catching Logan at the reception. Summers was across the room, talking with a number of serious-looking men in serious, dark suits. This was his new life, Logan realized. He was the new headmaster, the new Charles Xavier. It suited him well – or it would, once he was well enough to stand up straight without wincing. "Come on, eyes front," Marie groaned, tugging Logan around to face her.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You and Professor Summers." She crossed her arms and looked expectant and, maybe, a bit annoyed. "You're together."  
  
Logan cleared his throat. "So?" He remember Xavier's warning, that he should find a good way to tell Marie before she found out on her own. "I'm – look, I'm sorry, kid, I meant to tell you before. Only –"  
  
"Only you're an emotionally stunted jackass," she grumbled. Logan opened his mouth to protest, but she shook him off. "Honestly. If I wasn't so happy for you, I'd kick your ass."  
  
Logan grinned. "Like to see you try, kid."  
  
She rolled her eyes, then looked over to where Summers was standing, his conference with the suits over. She raised her glass of punch to Summers, who looked from her to Logan in question before nodding. "Well, if anyone stands a chance with you, it'd be him," she said, turning back to Logan. "He's almost as stubborn as you are."  
  
Logan smiled. He kissed Marie's hand. "Thank you," he said, and she nodded.  
  
"Now get over there."  
  
Logan did as he was told. Summers was thanking someone for coming – a small woman in a dark suit that looked vaguely familiar – when Logan stepped up behind him. The woman left, and Summers turned toward him, taking the glass of punch that Logan offered. "How're the kids?"  
  
"Tough as always," he said, shrugging. Summers nodded, looking around.  
  
He turned, finally, toward Logan. "You sticking around?" he asked.  
  
"Where else would I go?"  
  
Summers nodded. "Keep an eye on the kids, then, will you?"  
  
Logan took the dismissal. He spent the afternoon making sure that the students were kept busy – occupation seemed to be the best cure, so far, to the grief that had settled on the building. He managed to get everyone inside for dinner, and then, with Marie's and Bobby's assistance, he routed them into the ballroom for a movie marathon. He left them there and glanced out at the grounds – the tent from the service was still standing, but everything else had been taken down, and the only cars in the driveway were familiar. Logan caught Storm in the hall. "Seen Summers?" he asked.  
  
She shrugged. "Not for a bit." She put her hand on his arm, looked up at him. "I'm glad you're staying," she said quietly. Logan nodded. "It's a good thing."  
  
He took the compliment and blessing, touched her shoulder as he walked past her. Summers wasn't in his own room or in Logan's; the professor's office was dark, as was the infirmary. In fact, it was the place of last resort where Logan found him: in the Danger Room.  
  
The scenario was frozen when Logan walked in, but he recognized it instantly: a complete replay of the night on the roof. Jean – the Phoenix – was frozen in place, facing Summers, her hand outstretched to him. Logan saw his own reflection, turning to tackle Summers to the ground. Summers's hand was half-raised and bent at a very strange angle.  
  
"She did the wrist," Logan said, stepping up next to Summers, the real Summers, still in his suit from the funeral.  
  
Summers nodded. "I saw." He cleared his throat but didn't look over. He paced forward into the scene and stood next to Xavier's empty wheelchair. "He was right about us."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
Summers looked up at Logan. "Half of his concern was that, when the time came, one of us would choose the other over the mission. And he was right. You went for me," he said, pointing to Logan. "She was right there, and you went for me instead."  
  
Logan nodded slowly. He said the words he hadn't been able to form before. "She was going to kill you."  
  
"But you were within range," Summers argued, stepping forward. He stood in the three feet of space between the Phoenix and Logan. "You could have taken her out with a single swipe, at this distance. And you went for me."  
  
"Storm –"  
  
"You can't tell me you knew she had her power back," Summers said. "I had only started to get sparkles in my vision."  
  
Logan shrugged. He stepped forward, stood right behind himself. Summers was right: his eyes had been focused on Summers, not on Phoenix, at that moment. His instinct had been to protect, not to kill. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, his voice low. "I did what seemed like the best thing at the time."  
  
Summers stepped forward. He put his hand out, mirroring the Phoenix's movement. "I thought she was going for you," he said quietly.  
  
Logan could see it, now, the sideways twist of her wrist. "She was going for all of us," he said.  
  
"I was reaching for my visor," Summers said. "Because I thought she was going for you. And I watched Charles die, but that –"  
  
"Shut up," Logan snapped. "Goddamn it. It's not like that. It wasn't a choice. It was instinct, it was –"  
  
"When did you become instinct?" Summers asked. He looked up from the Phoenix's hand. The lines by his mouth were deep, getting deeper every day; his short hair had flecks of white in it. The pain on the face of the simulated Summers was reflected in the real Summers before him. Summers had the entire weight of the school on his shoulders. He needed someone to protect him, to stand with him and behind him, to choose him every time.  
  
Logan reached out and put his hand on Summers's shoulder – the real Summers, his Summers – and said, "End this, all right?" He glanced from the simulation back to Summers. "Let's get out of here."  
  
Summers smiled, just barely. "Still not sure I'm real, are you?"  
  
"You keep me guessing."  
  
The room faded to gray at Summers's command. He stayed solid under Logan's hand as they stepped into the hall, and when they stopped at the elevator, his kiss was as real as anything Logan had ever felt.


End file.
